


Doc Martens By Your Bedside

by eurosthewanderer



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, The Spanish Princess (TV), The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Choking, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurosthewanderer/pseuds/eurosthewanderer
Summary: “Did you get a tattoo?” He asked. Ana looked over her shoulder and flicked her black eyes at him. Marie didn’t think much of it. She’d learned the habit from her mother who had a way of looking at people that made them feel special.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn/Henry VIII of England, Charles Brandon/Mary Tudor of France, Mary Boleyn/Henry VIII of England, Mary Boleyn/William Carey
Comments: 20
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue - A wedding

Seeing Henry did not hurt like it had when she’d left, with a gym bag and two suitcases, one of them his, in the boot of her trunk. She had never returned that one. It was still in the back of her new closet, sitting beneath the three suits Will had left at her apartment. 

Marie would be cleaning out half of it for him when they got back. 

“Is that him?” He asked. “By the fruit monstrosity?”

It truly was a monstrosity, designed, bought and paid for by Minnie Talbot’s mother if what Percy told Ana was true. Henry was in his uniform and his hair was still an overgrown mess but slicked back. 

“Yes,” Marie replied. “That’s him.”

“He’s in the room next to us,” Will told her. They’d been set up in Falconer’s Tower, two floors above the happy couple. Marie’s half sister had been given a room on nearly the opposite side of the castle. 

The connotations of that made Marie mildly uncomfortable. 

Her sister was twenty-two and Henry Percy was twenty-six.

Ana had told her he’d proposed to Minnie Talbot after one month and that was only six months before the wedding 

“Oh,” Marie replied lamely. What else was there to say? 

Marie swallowed down her bloody inferiority complex and squared her shoulders.

“Let’s go say hello,” Marie said. 

Ana, herself, was over there, a few people away from Henry with a drink in hand, talking to someone Marie didn’t know. She looked more put together than Marie had seen in the past few years but, then again, Marie herself had dressed up when she’d gone out for drinks with Henry to give him back the ring after it was all said and done. 

A goodbye and good riddance beer, in all honesty.

“Henry,” She said as she walked up to him. Marie had forgotten how tall he was, nearly two meters and thinner than the last time she’d seen him. By no means as thin as when she’d first met him in college. They’d been two thin red headed track stars and she’d thought them perfect for one another when they’d been in uni. 

He’d dumped her before he enlisted and called her out of the blue right before he’d been shipped off the Calais. 

It looked like he’d started lifting. 

“Marie,” He said tightly. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, busy,” Marie replied. Then she let go of Will’s hand. “This is Will.”

“Nice to meet you,” Henry said and extended his hand. He didn’t look comfortable but about as _not comfortable_ as the time she’d screamed at him in the hospital after he’d called his former sister-in-law over her when he’d been rushed into surgery. 

That had been two weeks before they’d gotten engaged. 

“So, uh,” Will said, in that very American way of his. “What do you do?”

Marie couldn’t help but smile. 

What else was there to talk about after all? What else was there to compare? Football teams?

Henry hated football as much as Marie loved Paris Saint-Germain. 

“I just got out of the Army,” Henry said, gesturing to his uniform. “Probably the last time I’ll get to wear this.”

“They only just discharged you?” Marie asked. Henry shrugged. That was when she realized he wasn’t using a cane. 

She felt her throat close up and her eyes burn. 

“Yes,” Henry replied. “What about you? What are you two doing?”

Marie felt herself blush at the unintentional implication. Hopefully, unintentional implication. A long time ago, she used to think he just overlooked little things like that, just like she’d overlooked the papers she’d left spread out over their kitchen table. 

“I’m working for a tech startup,” Marie told him. “Managing the sales and such. Will’s a stock broker.”

Will seemed to puff up with pride at that. He’d worked so hard, as hard as anyone Marie had never known, to get there. 

Just as hard as she’d worked to get through college. 

“What firm?” He asked. 

“Chilton Foliat,” He said. “The Wiltshire branch.”

Henry seemed distinctly unimpressed. 

I’m on ritalin now, She wanted to say. Not adderall. I’ve had my job for eighteen months. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t look at Will like that.

“What kind of stocks do you sell?” Henry asked. 

“I handle diversified portfolios, most,” Will claimed. “Hands off, that sort of thing. It’s actually how I met Marie. We worked with Norfolk & Surrey before they went public.”

“I saw that,” Henry replied, lisp coming out. 

It had probably been a Norfolk & Surrey mortar that had blown him off the top of the humvee at Théroanne. Marie had thanked god he’d been up there with the machine gun when it hit. He’d been blasted ten meters and snapped both legs, four ribs, an arm and his neck. Compton, Knyvert, Jane Poppincourt and Edmund Ward, the spotty faced medic Marie had never met, had been killed.

“Congratulations to your uncle,” Henry said to her. 

“For what?” Asked a lilting voice from behind Henry. He moved to the side, letting her see that her little sister was behind him. Ana was in heels, a high necked pink dress and had her black hair up in a bun. She’d done Marie’s hair that morning too but she wore it much better.

Ana Boleyn wore everything as well as she wore her constant, perpetually amused smile.

“Norfolk & Surrey going public,” Henry told her. 

“A pity he isn’t here,” Ana mused. “So we might give it to him ourselves.”

“Thank god he isn’t,” Marie replied. Ana snorted and stepped past Henry. 

“Do you know when they’re serving dinner?” Ana asked. 

“An hour or so,” Will replied.

“Hmm,” Ana said. “The groom will be more than tanked by then.”

“Should be fun,” Marie grunted. Ana swished off or nearly did before Henry called after her.

“Did you get a tattoo?” He asked. Ana looked over her shoulder and flicked her black eyes at him. Marie didn’t think much of it. She’d learned the habit from her mother who had a way of looking at people that made them feel special. 

Made Marie feel special when she’d first met her stepmother.

“Yes,” Ana said. “Does it show over my collar?”

“Yeah,” Henry replied. “A bit.”

* * *

“What do you make of him?” Marie asked Will as she ran her toothbrush under the tap. 

“Your ex?” Will replied. “He looks like he ought to be on a catwalk, acts like it too.”

“You do know he’s a Duke right?” Marie scoffed. 

“I forgot that,” Her boyfriend replied. Marie shrugged and clicked on her toothbrush. The buzzing noise nearly drowned out the sound of a door slamming. Marie ignored it. 

She’d wasted enough of her time fixating on Henry; on when he wouldn’t wake up for a week and Mary and Margaret had wanted to pull the plug; on when he woke up and even before that; on when he’d stayed over at Catherine’s house for a week after Arthur died. When she’d gotten high, gone to the shops with him, forgotten he existed, left him there and crashed his car. He’d bailed her out, gotten Wolsey to get the charges dropped, said he wanted a break, left and stayed with his brother’s widow for three days.

Marie’d gone through his phone and found pictures of Catherine in lingerie. 

“Was it some, like, family obligation to go to Calais?” Will asked her. She shrugged. 

“He wanted to,” Marie said through a mouth full of toothpaste. 

Marie heard a muffled shout through the wall. Will raised an eyebrow. There was the sound of something banging on the bathroom wall. 

“Fuck,” She heard Henry say. Her and Will looked at eachother. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

“It looks like the happy couple aren’t the only ones having a good night.” Marie said.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Henry said. “Oh my _god._ ”

A woman laughed and said something that she couldn’t hear. 

“That’s it,” She heard him groaning. “You want to choke on it, do you? Slowly, my sweet girl, keep me in your mouth. Look up at me. _Fuck_. Keep doing that and I’ll spank you later.”

Will looked at her with wide eyes.

There was another laugh from the woman and then one from Henry.

“We should..um…” Marie said. “Not be listening to this.”  
  



	2. CHP 1- Henry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anouska means "she who reigns over the earth" so I thought it fitting for Anne.

The first time Henry saw Ana after uni was at 11:39 a.m. in a coffee shop that was ten minutes from Charlie and Mary’s new flat. His little sister was not exactly happy that her husband’s stag party had turned up at 3:17 a.m. so drunk that they’d gotten thrown out of their hotel so he’d been happy to leave. Unfortunately he hadn’t been able to shower and could smell the whiskey, stripper sweat and febreeze on his clothes. There was a voicemail informing him that they’d be sending him the bill for the trashed room tomorrow. Apparently, the police might also need to talk to him. 

And hangovers at thirty made him long to be a spotty faced sixteen year old again. 

One good thing could say about the morning was that there was a lovely set of legs standing in front of him in a light green sundress. 

_See, Dr. Butts? Thinking on the positive side._

Henry didn’t stare at the girl, because _what the fuck,_ she might be half his age given the kids milling around the place. And he prided himself in not being a creep. 

As in a normal human being. 

_Not right._

He prided himself in having returned to being a somewhat functioning human being after Thérouanne. 

He looked at his phone while he waited, wondering why in the name of God they had banned Uber in London. They were perfect for anything booze related. Wolsey, thankfully, had already called him a car. 

Good man.

Henry ordered black coffee with two shots of espresso in the “Massive Attack” size because apparently he was in a creative hipster coffee shop and this was how they did it. He shuffled over to the side to wait. His left leg was acting up, muscles complaining even though they hadn’t needed a cane in eight months. 

Someone cleared their throat next to him and he looked over. The girl with the lovely legs was standing there with a curious look on her face.

She also had a very lovely, somewhat large nose. 

“Henry?” She asked. “Henry Tudor?”

“Yes…..?” He replied. 

“Ana Boleyn,” She said. “You probably don’t remember me. Marie’s sister.”

_Oh. Oh. Oh, fuck._

“Right,” Henry said. “I...umm. How’ve you been?”

Anouska Boleyn, last he had seen her, had been a physics major with braces on the fast track to a doctorate and a Mensa membership. Last he’d seen her, she spent her evenings in a laboratory or sitting in front of a white board, scribbling symbols and letters he couldn’t even hope to understand. Last he’d seen her, she’d been at graduation to support her half sister and come over to say “hi.”

“How do you know her?” His father had asked when she’d walked away. Henry had wished her a happy birthday and she had offered congratulations. 

“She was in one of my statistics classes last semester,” Henry had explained. It was true, she had been.

“A first year?” Henry Sr. had replied, ever suspicious, ever disapproving. 

“Third year,” Henry had snapped.

“At sixteen?” His father had said, shocked. “She must be a rather bright young lady. And driven.”

Henry had stared down at his shoes and tried not to scream. 

He’d thought his father would have traded every single one of them to be able to adopt a child like Ana. 

One percent of one percent. That’s what she was.

“I’m well,” Ana replied. “How about you? Did you end up joining the marines?”

“Just got discharged,” Henry told her, starting to ramblr. “What are you doing in London? I thought you planned on staying at Oxford.”

“Not truly,” Ana laughed. “God, I couldn’t wait to get out of that place.”

“I can understand that,” Henry snorted. He’d nearly ripped his own eyes out halfway through his last year, quit and told his father to shove it up his arse. 

“Are you living here?” 

“Well, not _here_ no but in London; yes. Are you?”

“Yeah, I'm renting.”

“In this neighborhood?” He couldn’t help but ask it. Charles had spent nearly an hour complaining about the rent last night but _she won’t live anywhere else, Harry. I’m just like….we need to save money, honey._

“No,” Ana snickered. “I work two blocks away.”

Henry was unaware there was a nuclear reactor within half a kilometer of his baby sister.

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

_Please_ say engineering. _Please_ say computer programming. Please _don’t_ say high energy particle physics. 

“I’m a tattoo artist,” Ana said. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Henry spluttered. 

“So surprised,” Ana teased and, yes, he found he quite liked her nose.

Henry left the horrifically hipster coffee shop with a wonderfully strong cup and a new contact in his phone. 

Overall a rather decent morning.

He then promptly broke his goddamn phone.

* * *

It was four months later when he saw Ana Boleyn again. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. His doctor had told him his left leg wouldn’t need more surgery. They’d had to replace his MCL and ACL and his knee. 

Sometimes he wished they’d just amputated it. 

_Most times_ he wished they’d amputated it.

He thought that an amputation scar would be easier to deal with instead of staring down at the raised, thick white knots on his calf and thigh. They shouldn’t have even been out there. Everyone and their mother knew they would have to give up the Canal. 

Heck, surrender Calais, Jane Poppincourt had said, laughing. Why gives a fuck? They’re all French anyways.

Henry had one tattoo on the back of his shoulder. It was a badly done rose, gotten in Puerto Rico during his gap year while nearly blackout drunk.

He didn’t like it nor and he loathed the process of getting it.

He hated the sight of his scars more. 

Charlie and he had shoving five pound wings into their mouths for lunch when he’d brought up getting another tattoo. 

It reminded him to be normal sometimes and he generally liked greasy, heart-attack food. 

“What kind?” Charlie asked. They both had grown out their curls after they’d come back from Théroanne. Henry had kept his a long shaggy mess while Charlie had trimmed it back when he ran off with Mary. 

Literally _ran off._

They’d told him they were dating one Monday and sent him wedding pictures the next Sunday. It had, ironically, been Margaret’s husband who’d talked them into having a proper wedding. Three of his daughters had been flower girls but, thankfully, their mothers hadn’t come. 

“Something mechanical but natural,” Henry said, pulling out his phone. 

“Like a gun surrounded by flowers?” Charlie asked.

“No,” Henry replied. “Who wants a gun on their body for the rest of their lives?”

“ _I do_ ,” Charlie snorted. Henry was, somehow, not surprised. 

“Where?” He asked. “I’ve seen your back and there’s not a gun.”

Charlie had a horse skull on his upper back. He’d wanted his spine left untattooed and the artist had made it work, having the tattoo split apart as if the bone was crumbling to bits. It morphed into the face of a woman with her white eyes staring out from his lower back, just as the horse’s black eyes peered out from his shoulder blades.

“It's on my arse.” Charlie said. “Wanna see a picture?”

“ _No_ ,” Henry replied emphatically. Instead he handed his phone to Charlie and watched as his friend flicked through his photos. 

“Hold on,” Charlie said. “Where’s your Instagram?”

“What?” Henry asked.

“I want to show you the shop I went to.” Charlie replied. He typed something quickly and then handed the phone back to Henry.

@nightcrow.inc. was open on his page. 

“How’d you like it?” Henry asked, scrolling through the photos. Strange Lovecraftian creatures crawled down women’s legs and brightly colored, half grown alien-like things sat on men’s chests. He stopped on one picture and clicked it open. It was an octopus crawling down an elbow, wrapping it’s tentacles around an armored forearm. 

“The music’s metal but they don’t mind if you bring your headphones in,” Charlie replied. “The girl I had was a cunt, worked like a sloth and billed me up to my eyeballs but...”

Charlie shrugged and took a bite of his chicken wing.

Henry had seen Charlie’s back piece so he knew very well what he meant by that.

He clicked on the handle that was tagged. The artist did flowers too. There was one with smudged red roses, inked into the skin like bloodstains, framing a demonic face with those same white eyes as the woman on Charlie’s back. There was another with black and grey lotuses on a woman’s chest. 

“Was it clean?” Henry asked. “Did they sterilize the needles and the seat? And do they wear gloves?”

“Yes,” Charlie replied. “Yes, yes and yes.”

Henry went back to the artist’s homepage only to see he was already following @greensleeves. 

He booked a consultation four days later.

A consultation for two months out with _Anna._

When Henry walked in on that particular Monday evening at 19:55 p.m. he was greeted by a man with a goatee, plugs in his ears, and a half shaved head. 

The music was indeed, very metal as was the rest of the shop. The walls were black, except for the posters of goat heads and all that. 

“Ana!” The guy shouted. The shop was small, housing maybe five artists.

Seven, actually, if the website had been correct. 

The four Henry could see working were men, dressed in some variation of dark shirt and black jeans and tattooed.

The girl that came out from the back was dressed in an overall skirt, tights, a set of Mary Jane’s and a purple sweater. 

Ana Boleyn had cut bangs since the last time he’d seen her. 

“Hi,” Henry said, face turning red. 

“Hello,” Ana replied. “Fancy seeing you here.”

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

When they got back to her booth and Ana grabbed her ipad the first thing out of his mouth was _idiotic_. 

“I’msorryIdidn’tcall,” He said. “I broke my phone. Literally, smashed it on my kitchen counter when I got home.”

“Mmmhum,” Ana replied. 

“I wanted to call,” Henry continued. “I…..”

“I was expecting a text,” Ana said, waving a hand in the air. 

“Yes,” Henry huffed. “ _Right._ ”

He shook his head back and forth and smiled down at the floor. This was not going well. She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, head cocked to the side. 

He was twenty-eight for _God’s sake_. 

“So I’ve done two sketches based off of what you sent me,” Ana said and handed the ipad to him. As he looked down as what she’d drawn he decided that _this_ would be yet another example of how being swallowed up by the earth would be more productive than continuing to breathe.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Coffee shop meeting was something I've had typed up forever. It might not work that well but...meh...Henry being flustered is amusing to me so I left it.


	3. CHP 2 - Ana

Ana had two unanswered texts from her father the first time she tattooed Henry Tudor, 17th Duke of York, and Earl Richmond. His middle name was _Fitzroy_ according to his Wikipedia page which had made Ana briefly wonder whether his mother had been close to Prince Philip at any point in her life. 

She was not going to ask him that, of course. She liked getting paid and she liked her job and she especially liked the design she’d sketched up. Well, she had three designs, in truth. He’d worn dress pants to their consultation and, quite reasonably, she hadn’t asked him to take them off, so she hadn’t been able to see the scarring on his leg. 

Ana had always had the impression he was a jockstrap sort of man, afterall.

Maybe it was because she’d seen his jockstraps in her sister’s laundry when the three of them were at uni. 

Ana would be doing the front of his thigh with a woman’s face, white eyed, clean lined with a helmet and framed by armor. It would fit well as a centerpiece if he ended up getting a full leg tattoo. She already had three sketches make up for it but, then again, she hadn’t seen the scar tissue yet. 

Henry came ten minutes early, carrying a gym bag, while Ana was outfront, texting her brother, and vaping. It was the day before the garbage was picked up so the dumpster behind the restaurant two shops down was overflowing with fish guts and whatever else was foul enough to overwhelm her nostrils from so far away. 

He was wearing a three piece suit and sunglasses with no winter coat.

In the middle of January. 

Ana suddenly wished she’d put on lipstick. Not red. She had thin lips and yellow undertones in her skin so she found it didn’t suit her, unless it was paired with red clothes. Preferably a dress with a push up bra. 

“Afternoon,” Anne said in greeting. She dropped her vape and phone into her coat pocket. 

“Hello,” Henry replied. “Again.”

He pulled off his glasses and she saw the bags under his eyes. Anne guessed he’d maybe gotten twelve hours in three nights. Maybe.

She could remember how his face changed over the course of the school year. How his cheek bones sharpened in season and how his back broadened out of season. Henry had likely slept more during the track season or rather slept with her sister less.

He held the door for her and Ana breezed into the room, Doc Martins squeaking on the wood floor. 

“Where’s the bathroom again?” Henry asked.

When he came back he was in a hoodie, trainers and a set of gym shorts. Both of Henry’s legs were covered in both clusters and lines of scar tissue and varicose veins. 

“Are your shorts from uni?” Ana asked. 

She’d seen worse once when she was eighteen. 

Francis Bryan, former mercenary; veteran of the War of Napolitano Succession. He’d lost his right eye, had burns on his chest, arms and back and knife scars on his stomach. Marguerite, her mentor and boss at the time, had specialized in covering up scar tissue but it had been Ana’s flash design in the window that had actually gotten him into the shop. She’d done a lion skull on his bicep in 2.4 hours and then he’d come back for something proper on his abdomen. 

Marguerite had worked side by side with her on that piece for a total of 15.8 hours over three months before his _succubus pope_ (his words not Ana’s) was done. In that time, he’d managed to fuck everyone in the shop but her, irrespective of relationship status or gender.

He came back eight months ago, after Marguerite had gone back to France and Ana had packed herself off to London and Nightcrow for _whatever three eyed lovecraftian birds’s sitting in your drafts on my back, please and thank you kindly ma’am_ (his words not Ana’s).

It was half done at 20.67 hours in but he’d only shagged Mark that she knew of so far. 

“Yeah,” Henry said. He sat down and Ana realised he had shaved his thigh. She looked it over closely. There was no razor rash, nor knicks that she could see on his pale skin. 

She handed over the three printed drawings

“Have your nerves regenerated?” Ana asked. He looked at her in confusion. 

“When did you injure your left leg?” She tried again.

“Three years ago, about,” Henry replied. “Why?”

So, _yes_ , they would have grown back.

“How painful are the scars to the touch?” Ana asked. 

“They’re alright,” Henry replied and sat on her table. He looked over the papers while Ana looked at his leg. The face would need to be moved to the outside of his thigh and turned 45 degrees forward, regardless of which design he picked. The tissue was best suited for a packed, winding biomechanical design rather than a set, singular image. 

“I think I like this one best,” He told her and handed the second drawing back to her. The one where the woman’s helmet was the most structured; like the vertebrae of an exoskeleton but with compression fractures.

It would work well. 

“Think or know?” Ana asked. 

“Know.” Henry said convincingly. Ana still raised one skeptical eyebrow.

* * *

He did not take her suggestion to change the face very well. In fact, he flat out refused to do it. Well, not entirely. He would let her turn it 20 odd degrees but that was it, much to her irritation but, then again, it wasn’t her body. She hadn’t done a full leg sleeve before, in all honesty.

“I’m sorry,” Henry told her. “I should’ve thought ahead and sent you a picture or….”

He waved his hand in the air.

Ana remembered him as a magnetic, charming, funny, intelligent, charismatic and occasionally kind man.

She had also been in her early teens when she’d known him. 

13 and 1/3 to 16 and 1/12. 

There was a good chance she misremembered him. 

He was squirming in her booth, nearly sweating as if he was the kid that had come in that morning and wanted one of Ana’s snake designs from the window on his ribs. She wanted to take that particular piece of flash down but that would require putting one of her half-lion faces back up and Ana couldn’t stomach doing another one of those for a few months.

Probably once her bookings dried up sometime in the summer or early fall. Perhaps mid-November if she was lucky. She’d be done with Francis by then. 

“It’s not your fault.” Ana replied. Maybe it was. Maybe it was hers too. 

She should have asked.

“I mean,” He continued. “Time is money and I’ve wasted four hours of yours.”

“You’ve been here for thirty minutes,” Ana said. Henry cracked a grin and Ana wished she’d put on eyeliner. “How do you want to waste the next three and a half?”

“Drinks?” Henry asked, sounding thoroughly impish. Ana shook her head. 

“I don’t tattoo drunk people,” She replied looking over the edits she was making to the design. 

Well, she didn't tattoo customers who were _black out drunk on arrival_.

High, _yes_ , and tipsy because the shop didn't ask about drugs on the consent form and humans were born with the ability to lie. 

Ana had done plenty of stoners, junkies, and a few people who were probably doing eight balls in the bathroom to get through the eight hour session they’d booked. 

“Can I take a picture of your leg?” She asked. 

“Sure?” Henry replied and bent his knee up. Ana pulled up the camera, looked him over and noticed that he had stubble on his chin. Marie had hated it when he’d grown a beard during their third and Ana’s second year of uni. 

“Stand up?” She asked. He did and Ana dropped to her knees by his side and turned on the video. 

“Turn toward me?” Ana asked and he did, letting her film the scars, as he lifted up his short leg. 

There was a knock on the side of her booth and Henry turned to look. 

“One second!” She said. “Turn a little bit more, Henry.”

He obliged, Ana finished up and turned off the camera. Then she leaned around Henry and saw her boss standing there.

“What’s up?” She asked. 

“I got a call from Harry’s school,” Norris replied. “Will’s gonna lock up.”

“Everything alright?” Ana asked, still peering around Henry’s legs at her boss. 

“He’s with the headmaster,” Norris said. 

“I’m sorry,” Ana cringed. 

“Make sure you clean up,” Norris said, turned around and walked away. When she got up she saw Henry’s face was as red as his hair. 

“It’s alright,” Ana told him. “He’s seen a lot worse.”

Henry looked at her in mild horror and scratched his nose. She hopped up to her feet and tossed herself happily in her chair.

“Right,” Ana said. “Let me show you something really cool.”

It took her around twenty minutes to do a rough overlay of the stencil onto the photo of Henry’s leg. 

“Did you _invent_ this?” Henry asked as she finished up her rambling explanation of what she was doing with the photos of his leg.

“The program?” Ana replied. “No. It’s basic editing software. If I had my laptop I’d offer to scan your leg into a three-D program but I’m more comfortable using this.”

The truth was she’d never used a three D program to model a piece for a client. 

Ana would put it behind freehanding a tattoo on her career checklist. 

“Did you invent that?” 

Ana pursed her lips and fixed him with a glare.

She ended up putting the stencil and outlining the face on his leg. 

A thoroughly underwhelming day. 

Or it would have been if her father hadn’t called her just as she was finishing up. 

Henry saw her the name on her phone before she put it away and got back to lining the woman’s mouth. 

“How’s he been?” Henry asked. 

“I don’t rightly know,” Ana replied. “How’s your father?”

“Dead,” Henry grunted.

“I’m sorry,” Ana said. 

“Your sister never said anything?” He asked.

“I only started talking to her again last August,” Ana replied.

_Ana._

Ana with her three passports and three mother tongues and multiples of three by age of three. Ana, who was the condition for their father paying for Marie’s apartment and car during college. 

Ana with her whiteboards and markers and robotics and math club. 

Ana, who Marie had driven to her first interview for a tattoo apprenticeship. Her only interview.

Ana with her doctoral program acceptances in hand while Marie found herself a bartender.

Ana, who threw them in the trash. 

“How long have you been in London?” Henry asked. 

"A year," Ana replied.


	4. CHP 3 - Ana

The next time Henry came in, it was snowing and Ana was finishing up a tattoo of an octopus on a girl named Kate’s calf. His shorts weren’t the same but they were still left over from uni. Possibly a bit older than the other pair. 

Ana recognized his sweatshirt. It was nearly 100 pounds from Nike. 

She’d walked in 3.43 hours ago with 120 pounds in hand and asked if Ana could give the flash design irises. The black haired woman had been more than happy too. 

And the blonde had tipped her 35 pounds and 78 pence, which was always lovely. 

Henry was early by 9.5 minutes and he’d cut his hair so that the curls weren’t covering his ears. Anne was not wearing red lipstick but had remembered her eyeliner and was of the opinion that the fact she was dressed for a night out made up for it. 

Her doc martens squeaked on the floor while she cleaned up her station. She’d stuck up the pictures she’d taken with Madge and Jecca on Tom’s birthday on the wall at her booth. It was the one thing that had changed since Henry had last come in. 

Harry Norris had gotten suspended. For the third time. 

Norris was out again, with no excuse but, then again, he was the boss. Will thought he was seeing someone as did Mark. 

“Or a therapist,” Ana had suggested. She had received no response.

Last time they spoke Marie had said she wanted Ana to come to Wiltshire when she’d settled in and, maybe, meet a new boyfriend. She had received no clear response. 

“I didn’t know Anna came from Annamarie,” Molly Wyatt had said during their second year. 

They had been at her and Marie’s flat spreading their notes all over the kitchen table when her student ID had fallen out of a binder. 

The old one that she should have thrown out at the start of the year.

It had been wrong. 

“It doesn’t,” Ana had replied. “My mum thought Anouska was a woman’s name so she gave me something else for when I was a child.”

“It suits you,” Molly had harrumphed. “Annamarie. Better than mine at least. Constance.”

“Molly Constance Wyatt,” Ana had tried it out on her tongue. “Molly _C._ Wyatt. It’s not so bad.”

Ana had heard Marie’s keys rattle in the lock and realised she might have made a terrible mistake. 

“Anouska Annamarie Boleyn,” Molly had replied. She’d been mocking her. Ana had known that but she had had the girl’s half done homework under her fingertips so she held her tongue.

“Anouska Trofimovna,” Ana had corrected her. That was what it had said on her first birth certificate therefore that was her name. “Boleyn.”

Howranskeva. Her last name should’ve still been Howranskeva. 

“That’s pretty,” Molly had said. She had been close to failing out at the time and Ana had been happy to help a friend. Happy to have the company.

“Has Harry ever told you his middle name is Algernon?” Ana had asked Molly. 

“Harry _Percy_?” Molly had replied. The door opened and her sister had come in, wet haired and in a tracksuit. Henry Tudor had been one step behind her. Ana had watched his hands pull away from the space around Marie’s waist. 

He’d learned to watch out for her over the past 4.3 months. 

“Who else do we know named Harry?” Ana had said. 

“Hello?” Henry had said. “Yes? That’d be me.”

“Your name is Henry,” Ana had snapped.

There was a knock on the side of her booth and she looked up to see Henry Tudor standing there in his sweatshirt and shorts. 

“Do you know what song this is?” He asked. Ana listened for a moment.

“Magic Mountain by Black Stone Cherry,” Ana replied. “It’s from 2014.”

“Thanks,” Henry said. 

“I never really imagined you would be into hard rock,” Ana commented. 

Or shrooms, which the song was almost certainly about.

“This isn’t closer to country?” Henry replied.

“Have you ever listened to country-rock?” Ana said and smoothed over the paper on the bed. 

“Yes,” Henry said. “On occasion.”

“Really?” Ana asked. 

“I never took you for a music snob,” Henry replied. Ana gestured down to her green t-shirt dress, pantyhose with two or three runs up both legs, doc martens, safety pin earings and cuban link chain choker with it’s toggle clasp.

“Do you think anyone could mistake me for any kind of snob?” Ana asked. 

“Yes,” Henry replied. Ana’s eyebrows shot up her forehead in surprise. “You’re wearing Brandy Melville.”

“Firstly, how do you know that?” Ana asked. 

“I…..”

“Secondly, it’s a knockoff.” Ana replied, . “And thirdly….”

“My sister worked there,” Henry cut her off. “And no it’s not.”

“I got it off ebay,” Ana said. “So, yes, it’s a knockoff.”

“No it’s not,” Henry all but sang. Marie had told her he’d become more argumentative, cold, combative; _angry_ after he’d come back from France. She’d said he couldn’t stand someone disagreeing with him; that the slightest thing would set him off. 

“How can you tell?” Ana replied. 

“Check the tag,” He said. “Most knockoffs have seams or misspell something. Even the good ones don’t use all navy thread.” 

“Come here,” She ordered. “Check it yourself.” 

He looked slightly flustered but obeyed and Ana, in turn, dutifully spun around. She wound her long ponytail through her fingers and lifted it out of the way. 

“How long do you think your hair is?” Henry asked. She felt his cold fingers brush the back of her neck as he tugged her collar back. Ana suddenly remembered just how tight to dress was. 

When he’d last seen her it would have been a comfortable fit but she’d gained weight since then. 

“Down to my waist,” Ana said. He’d never seen it loose. 

“That’s a change,” Henry replied. “And this _is_ Brandy Melville.”

“How do you know so much about girl’s clothing?” Ana asked, frustrated. She’d bought the dress with eight others from a chinese seller for fifteen pounds while drunk one night. 

“I told you,” Henry said. “My little sister worked at a shop. You’d be surprised how many people tried to exchange fakes for the real thing.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Ana replied. She got DM’s and emails every day from people asking what they could get inked for a price that only some guy in a basement would accept. 

She went back to bustling around for a minute before she thought of something properly nasty to say. 

“I don’t remember you having a job at uni,” Ana said, keeping her voice even. Henry seemed to squirm a bit and she felt somewhat vindicated. 

“That was the reason my Dad made Mary get a job,” Henry replied and Ana felt bad. 

“How is she?” Ana asked as she pulled on her gloves. “And your older sister too?”

She knew Arthur had died of a rare form of testicular cancer, leaving a wife behind. She’d started a charity focusing on it and several other rare forms of cancer as well. 

Catherine of Spain was an Infanta after all. She had the money for that. 

“Mary just got married.” Henry replied. “Megan just divorced.”

“Oh,” She said. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” He said. “It was a relief, honestly, but she’s pregnant so the custody battle hasn’t even started yet.”

“Jesus,” Ana replied. She remembered what Elizabeth Norfolk had done to Marie and George after her divorce from Thomas.

Ana at the time had hated it. Hated seeing her little brother in tears and regurgitating what his mother had told him while crying on the bathroom floor. 

Later, after she got cheated on herself, she’d learned to hate her father. 

“Yeah,” Henry replied, sitting down. “Yeah. It’s bad.”

“Can you stand up for me?” She asked. He did and Ana grabbed the stencil. She looked over his leg quickly. The little bit of work she had done had healed up very well.

Ana knelt down with the stencil and looked more closely.

“You’ve taken care of it,” Ana commented. “Well done.”

“Thanks,” He replied. “I think?”

She put the stencil on him, carefully. It was only part of the full design but she’d set it up, as they agreed, so that the face, the helmet and the background immediately around it could stand on its own, more or less. 

It had meant she’d put more into the face than she’d liked. Ana wasn’t truly fond of just faces. They needed something else, something more in her opinion. 

Ana glanced up at him and noticed his eyes quickly dart away from her. He swallowed uncomfortably. The man had had eight girlfriends that Ana knew of so she was of the opinion he could suck it up.

* * *

It was 1 hour and 22 minutes in when Ana came up against the scar tissue. It was one of the thickest knots on his left thigh. The calf was worse, so, so very much worse. 

She was itching for nicotine, not having had time to vape before he’d come in. 

“Right,” She said. “Let’s take a break.”

“Do we have time?” Henry asked. He’d only booked two and a half hours. 

“I’ll be five minutes,” She replied as she peeled off her gloves. 

“Hands hurting?” He asked. 

“Nah,” Ana said, grinning at him. “I do this every day. They’re the strongest part of my body.”

She put on her jacket, froze her knees off and enjoyed a forth of her margarita flavored vape cartridge.

When she came back Henry was fiddling with his phone.

“I never thought you’d be a smoker,” He said. 

“Why?” She replied. He shrugged. 

Ana grimaced. She’d been a kid and a good one when he knew her. 

“I’m proud of you,” Her father had said when she graduated from Oxford. She had been hungover. “I know it was difficult these past few months. I know you struggled but I am so proud.”

Ana should have; was expected to graduate at the top of her class. She’d come in fifteenth after she’d stopped going to her classes in the last two months of uni. 

Thomas and Elizaveta didn’t know that at the time and she never planned on telling them. It had actually been the two of them who suggested she take a gap year not knowing she had no plans to go to graduate school.

“You should get a couple friends together and go backpacking,” Her mother had suggested in Russian at the end of the day. 

“Across Russia?” Ana had replied. 

“Yes.” Elizaveta had said. “Go see your cousins and your aunt while you have the time. We’ll buy your tickets.”

Ana had gone back to Volgograd every summer since she was seventeen. She’d almost gotten a job at a shop there when she was eighteen but they’d wanted her to do another apprenticeship. 

Ana had already had her job at Nightcrow set up.

She still wanted to go back, one day, when she was better. 

“You smoked in college,” Ana reminded him.

“Socially,” Henry said. “And rarely, may I remind you.”

“Have you ever blazed?” Ana replied, impulsively as she turned on her machine.

“No one says that, Ana,” Henry said. She took it as a yes.

She hummed and looked over his leg again. 

“If you need to tap,” Ana said. “You need to tap.”

“I’ll be alright,” Henry replied, grinning.

“That’s for me to decide,” Ana said lightly. “If you’re going to scream you need to tap. If you feel faint you need to tap. If your vision starts going spotty you need to tap. If you get nauseous you need to tap.”

“And?” Henry said testily. Ana was well used to that response. 

“It doesn’t mean we’ll stop. It means we sit till you feel normal,” She explained, knowing the speech by heart. “Needing a break doesn't make you weak or a pansy or whatever else. It just means….”

“I’m not that insecure in my masculinity,” Henry griped. “I just have a good pain tolerance.”

Ana had seen this man sulk over a rolled ankle at least half a dozen times.

9\. It had been 9 in total. All right ankle. 

Ana wanted to kick herself. She hated remembering such little things. It either made people think she cared about them more than she did or it creeped them out. 

The moles on Harry Percy’s shoulders came to mind. 

She violently shoved the memory away. 

“Alright.” Ana replied.

“Is shuddering off the table?” Henry asked. Ana struggled and scooted up to the table. 

“We’ll get to see if I’m strong enough to hold you down,” She said. “Roll on your side.”

He rolled over quickly and looked at her with eyes as wide as saucers. 

“Breathe,” Ana said. “In and out.”

He twitched and hissed when she got started but other than that, he did well enough over the first, thicker line of tissue. It was the thin, straight, long surgical scar that made him go rigid. 

The one they’d agreed would be completed inked over. 

“How are you?” Ana said, pulling her tattoo gun away from his leg.

“Get it over with,” Henry replied. He was pale but it was nothing Ana hadn’t seen before. She did as she was told.

He jumped and twitched and took deep, slow breaths in through his mouth and out through his teeth. He started to fiddle with his watch. 

“You can play on your phone.” Ana said. It was more a suggestion then offering permission. 

“I’m already on it enough,” He hissed out. Ana pulled away for a second, adding more ink and watched him relax. Before she continued Ana put her right arm on his hip and leaned down.

“You’re doing so good,” She murmured, keeping her voice soft. “You’re doing really, really good.”

His breath hitched.

“Really, really good for me,” Ana continued. He did it again and moved his arms so they rested on his side, his left one curled around his belly. Ana glanced up at his face and noticed a blush creeping up his neck. 

Ana blinked and fought the impulse to say _good boy_. 

She lost and Henry looked at her with such big, black eyes that she had to smirk. 


	5. CHP 4 - Henry

“Have you considered my proposition?” More asked. Henry grimaced out at the road ahead of him. He was driving to Hampton for the weekend. Some tourists had almost started a fire and they wanted him back to sign off on repairs. 

Maggie had insisted he had to come back a few times to see things. Henry had responded that he knew _jack shit_ about historical accuracy and therefore was worthless to them. 

“Language,” His aunt had responded, far too used to his mouth. 

God, he hated the place with more passion than was healthy. It had been a rundown money pit before his father had married his mother, taken her money and turned it into England’s second most popular tourist attraction and fifth most popular wedding venue. 

Arthur had done history and architecture at uni to better understand how to take care of the old place. He’d run it himself, letting their Aunt Maggie act as curator.

Henry had promoted her the moment he’d inherited it and replaced her with a Cambridge lecturer. 

“No,” Henry told More. The philosopher-politician was on speakerphone but Henry could all but see his eyes narrowing in disappointment. “Why?”

Thomas had first brought up Henry going into the House of Lords while he still thought he might lose his left leg. He’d taken to watching the BBC more than anyone should and talking politics with his father’s old friend more than he should’ve. 

“The Earl of Northumberland is officially stepping down when the House rises for Whitsun,” More explained. “It’s not public knowledge yet but I thought you ought to know.”

“Who’s a shoe in?” Henry asked. 

Curiosity killed the cat, he had to remember that.

“But satisfaction brought him back,” Professor Erasmus had always said on the first day of every class Henry had ever had with him. Bessie had always sat next to him, even after they were done with each other. 

“The Earl of Southampton,” Thomas said. 

That explained it. Southampton had served once before but stepped down for whatever reason after the so called 1999 Manor War or House of Lords Reforms. The House had won, only giving up the most token of victories. They’d limited their numbers to eighth hundred and gave up the automatic right to a lifetime seat and had a maximum of three terms. Instead, they were allowed to elect a maximum of one hundred and fifty hereditary peers to serve for life after they had served two of the allowed fifteen year terms. 

“You didn’t like him much did you?” Henry asked.

“No,” More replied. “He left in 2001, just as I was coming in but the man had a reputation.”

“What was he?” Henry said. 

“He’s one of the Crossbenchers,” More told him. 

_Like Henry would be_ remained unsaid.

When Henry stopped for lunch he looked up William Fitswilliam’s record. He was credited as one of the most stalwart opponents to the failed ‘99 Reforms and a bastion of conservative morals. Three of the Guardians articles that popped up compared him negatively with Henry Tudor, 16th Duke of York. 

That took away Henry's appetite.

* * *

Henry saw Ana for the third time in late February. He recognized the song playing in the shop as Metallica. He did not recognize the new poster on the wall of Ana’s booth but he didn’t much feel like asking. 

Her hair was loose. She had it parted in the center around her face, framing her bangs and a red sweater, a suit jacket along with a chain choker that looked like a collar he’d seen girls at certain sex clubs wear. It was a rectangular link chain that looked like it could have been repurposed from a belt.

“Can you even feel cold?” Henry asked as she laid the stencil on his leg.

“I am Russian,” Ana sniffed. 

_Snooty._

“And you grew up in the South of France,” Henry reminded her. She looked at him sharply and he wondered just how badly he’d fucked up.

“I only lived in Nimes for around six years before I went to uni,” Ana replied. 

“What?” Henry asked. 

The Boleyns lived in Nimes in the South of France. He knew that very well. He’d gone to visit them for the holidays twice. 

Those had been some of the most uncomfortable dinners of his life and he’d had to sit between Meg and Angus at parties on several occasions. 

Marie had lived there on and off for most of her life. Thomas would send his family home whenever he was posted somewhere dangerous but take them whenever he could.

Chechnya had been one example and Iran another. 

The former had been where Marie had said he’d met Ana’s mom.

Russia during the late ‘90’s had been a third but when he left the French civil service for the private sector he’d kept going back. He’d picked a job where he could keep going back for Ana and her mom. 

Said black haired woman raised an eyebrow at him and grabbed a red sharpy. 

“Can I play with the curve of this part?” Ana asked and pointed at his leg. The angle let him get a good look down her top. The silver tail of her necklace hung right down between them. 

“What do you want to do?” Henry replied. She grabbed a red sharpy and began to sketch on him. 

It was funny how Ana could make money doodling on people but when he’d done it as a kid, it was sloppy, ugly and he needed to go scrub it off right away.

That would be something for Dr. Butts.

“I only moved to France after my parents got married,” Ana told him. 

And took over her sister’s room. 

“Where’d you grow up?” Henry asked.

“Volgograd, mostly,” Ana told him. “My mother moved a bit but we were mostly there. You grew up in East Moseley and London?”

“London mostly,” He replied. 

“Eton and Knightsbridge, right?” Ana asked. Henry looked down at where she was kneeling at his feet, dark hair tossed out of the way, over her right shoulder. It was probably down to her buttocks or nearly there, as long as the hair of some Instagram models. 

Marie had had 300,000 followers before she’d deleted her account.

She had the face other women Henry had dated had paid tens of thousands of pounds for. The same as her mother did. 

Ana looked like their father. 

Henry was starting to think she was the hotter of the two. Somehow. Miraculously. 

_Good boy._

“Yes,” Henry told her. “What was Post Soviet Russia like?”

“It was Pre-Rurik Russia,” Ana snorted. Henry grimaced. She capped her pen and got up. “What do you think?”

He looked in the mirror for a moment before pulling out his phone.

Meg and Catherine wanted pictures, the latter having heard of his _endeavor_ from Maggie. She hadn’t said much but Henry couldn’t imagine she would like it. 

Henry snapped a photo and sent it off. 

“I like it,” He told Ana but then tapped his finger on the center of his leg. “Could you add another line here.”

“Just there or on the other tentacles too?” Ana asked.

“Wires,” Henry corrected. He had skeletal wires on his leg not centipede inspired tentacles.

Ana grabbed her ipad and peeled off one of her gloves. 

Damn it.

“Another line, plate, whatever will hide more of the scar,” Henry told her. 

“No it won’t,” Ana replied. “It’ll make it more visible.”

She typed on her ipad for a minute and handed it to Henry. It was the design laid over the image of his leg. 

“The scar sits right there,” Ana said. “In the shading. It’s covered.”

It was covered.

“What will it look like with another plate?” Henry asked.

Twenty minutes later, Henry did not have an additional ridge added to his tattoo but had gained some understanding of why Charlie thought she was a bitch.

* * *

“You falling asleep?” Ana asked as she traced the magnum needles along the outside of a scar. Henry had his eyes shut and was taking slow deep breaths but, other than that, he was alright. He thought of managing pain like hitting a tennis ball against a wall. Just a rhythmic smack and the feeling of his arm getting sore over the course of an hour. 

He used to go out and do it every day over the summer, before he quit when he was sixteen. He remembered how the coach had sat down and told him he could really make something of himself with it or with track but Henry needed to pick. 

That had not gone the way the man had planned. 

“No,” Henry told her. “Meditating, sort of.”

“I never took you for the yoga type,” Ana replied. 

“I’m not,” Henry huffed and opened an eye. Ana had her hair tucked behind her ear. “I learned to count my breaths when I had to relearn to walk.”

“How long did it take?” Ana asked. She looked up at him with her blue eyes and gave a little smile. “If you want to talk about it.”

Talking about it was what he had a therapist for. 

“Two,” He said. “Two and a half years or so. It was awful.”

“That’s probably why you sit so well,” Ana replied. 

“I’m _sorry_?” Henry asked. Ana pulled the gun away from his leg, sat back and gave him a look that could be, at best, described as snooty.

“You’re doing very good,” She said.

_Good boy._

Henry was far too old to want to squirm or stutter in front of a woman. Especially one he could admit he fancied. 

Henry Tudor was fucked.

“What do you mean?” He asked. 

“Most people have trouble sitting through scar cover ups,” Ana replied. Henry looked at her in confusion.

“Regenerated- _regenerating_ -nerves hurt like cigarette burns,” Ana explained. “Apparently.”

“So you do a lot of scars then?” 

It was her turn to look at him in confusion.

“Yes,” She replied. “I thought that was why you hired me.”

“No,” He said. “Charlie recommended you and I liked your art better than most other people’s.”

“Charlie?” Ana asked. “ _Charlie Brandon_?”

She was gorgeous when she was shocked. Henry fought the urge to boop her on her broad, little nose or kiss it. 

He needed to get a pet or go see Meg and her cat or something. 

“Yes,” Henry replied. 

“Does his wife still hate the skull?” Ana asked and bent back down to his leg.

“Oh, yeah Mary does,” Henry told her. “Loves the face though.”

“Mary,” Ana replied. “Your sister.”

It wasn’t a question. 

“They got married in May,” Henry told her. 

“How does it feel having an arse for a brother in law?” She sneered, eyes flashing.

_Bitch._

“Very good, thank you,” Henry replied cheerily. Charlie had called her a bitch several times and a cunt twice over the year she’d done his back. 

Henry hadn’t remembered her as a bitch. 

Alright, that was a lie. He just hadn’t been willing to call a fifteen year old a bitch. 

“Hey!” He remembered Ana yelling. “Hey Tudor! Hey!”

He’d turned around to see the fifteen year old storming across the flat until she was right up in his face. It was the January of his fourth year, right after he’d gotten back from what would be his first of three Yules at Elizabeth Howard’s house. 

“Hey Ana,” Henry had replied. 

“Hey fuckface,” She had said. “How was Yuletide?”

“Boleyn?” Henry had asked. Her hair had been in a messy braid, falling out around her face and she looked like a some year nine boy who’d had his bag thrown on the roof. 

“Why the hell did you fucking tell my brother…..?” Ana had demanded.

“Well it’s true,” Henry had said, knowing exactly what she was talking about. 

It had actually been George who’d started it. 

“He’d said his mother’s like Mrs. Bates,” Henry had continued. 

“Oh, that’s what you think I’m here for?” Ana had replied. “You went out and got him, a fourteen year old, drunk and told him...”

“As if you can say anything,” Henry had said. Her half brother shouldn’t have tried to sneak into Henry and Marie’s room at night. He shouldn’t have gone through Henry’s bags. 

He’d had every right to tell George he’d amount to nothing if he didn’t get himself together. That he’d be on a registry if he tried to steal someone’s underwear when he was an adult.

“So,” She’d replied, voice dropping an octave so it was as deep as his and going cold. “You think that because your parents would rather just sit, smile and pretend that they’ve done everything, _everything_ perfectly that the rest of us have to as well? Or are they actually perfect? Is a father being disgusted by his son what you consider perfection? Is your mother thinking you’re little better than a child _perfection_ ? Is the fact that they sent you to South America rather than have you at your sister’s wedding _perfection_?”

“Didn’t Marie tell you that they got married?” Henry asked Ana, biting down his anger. “I know she still talks to Charlie.”

Ana visibly flinched at the comment.

“We’ve only been talking since August,” Ana reminded him. “She hasn’t said much about you or any of your army friends.”

That was seven months. He found he didn’t like that fact that he was that unimportant that Marie _wouldn’t_ talk about him. 

“Then what has she said?” Henry asked. Ana put the gun back on his leg and he hissed in pain. 

“You shagged your sister in law,” Ana replied. It was Henry’s turn to flinch.

Mary _would_ have told her that. 

She’d told everybody they knew about Catherine. 

“Can we not talk about it?” Henry asked and shut his eyes.

It was nearly ten minutes before they spoke again. Ana pulled a line over a scar and Henry’s entire body jumped. He sunked a deep breath in through his teeth and started to count. 

100.

99.

98.

97.

Then she did it again and he yelped. 

“Good?” Ana asked.

“Yes,” He replied.

96.

95.

A third time and his stomach flipped as pain shot down his leg. 

“Stop,” He choked out. “Stop. ”

Ana hopped back right away. She put her hand on his arm as he sat up, as if she was expecting him to tip over onto the floor.

“How are you doing?” She asked him. He shook his head and flexed his toes in his shoe. 

It still felt like his leg was burning. 

Henry bent his knee up to his chest and then laid it back down on the bed. 

“I see what you mean by cigarette burns,” Henry said. Ana nodded and scowled. 

“I really meant it,” She replied. “When I said you were doing well.”

He grimaced and laid his leg on the table. 

“Scars don’t hold ink as well as normal skin,” Ana said. “Which means that they need more of it but they hurt and swell like crazy. It’s why I booked you for two or four hour sessions instead of five hour ones.”

Henry looked at her. 

“I’ve seen people, most of them who weren’t my clients, only be able to sit for an hour or an hour and a half total a day because of the pain,” Ana continued. “You are doing really good.”

_Good boy._

She smiled uncomfortably at him, thin lips pressed together. It didn’t stop the warm, arousing rise of pride in his chest. 

“Thanks,” He said. 

“We’ve got forty-two minutes. Want to take five?” She asked and turned off her machine. He nodded and hopped off the table. 

“Are you going to vape?” Henry asked. She pulled off her gloves and looked at him as if he were a drawing or an equation.

“I’d rather stay,” Ana said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” Henry replied. 

“Do you feel sick or….”

“I’m fine,” He said and got up. 

Henry stood in front of the mirror and looked at his leg. A set of white eyes looked at him above a full, round mouth. It looked like Catherine’s. 

He could barely see the scars under the healed parts. 

Henry looked at the clock above the mirror and saw they had forty-one minutes left. 

“Who told you it felt like cigarette burns?” He asked. 

“A guy with one eye,” Ana replied. “And cigarette burns on the bottom of his feet.”

“Wonder what that was like to walk on those?” Henry said, shaking his head back and forth. 

Ana didn’t say anything, just watched him with her big, round eyes. She had the ability to look at someone as if they were the most important thing she had ever seen. 

“You know,” Henry said. “I remember the first time I went running when I was in rehab was before my legs got strong enough. This doesn’t really match up to how much that hurt.”

He hadn’t used his cane once for around two weeks so he’d put on his shoes and tried to jog on the treadmill. His right knee had buckled five minutes in and he’d nearly crackled his head on the plastic display. 

He’d ended up partially tearing his MCL. 

“It’s a different type of pain.” Henry said and his eyes started to burn. He smiled at Ana through the mirror, swallowed and looked back at his tattoo.

It felt like both PT and talk therapy. 

Except _that_ ex’s sister was sticking a needle in his skin.

“Can you add blue to her eyes?” He asked. 

“To outline it or to create an iris?” Ana replied. “Or the illusion of an iris?”

Ana’s eyes were such a dark blue they could’ve been mistaken for black but she didn’t look mad.

“The illusion?”

She grabbed her ipad and scribbled a note down.

“I’ll draw something for next time and see if it works,” Ana replied. Henry had the sudden, nagging worry was that he hadn’t been tipping her enough. 

“Sorry,” Henry said. 

“It’s your tattoo,” Ana replied.

_Snooty princess._

Henry didn’t think that was what he was really apologizing for but he didn’t say anything.

* * *

Henry ended up texting Ana at 23:35 pm. on a Saturday night in early March. In his defense he was drunk, he was staring at a bit of graffiti that was tagged in what was probably Russian and he had a brunette with high cheekbones hanging on his arm.

Anne didn’t look like Ana. She was conventionally prettier than her.

But Anne didn’t have Ana’s legs nor her big eyes and long lashes.

“Hold on a second, love,” Henry told her, turned on his flash and snapped a photo. 

“Harry?” She giggled. “Oh that’s pretty.”

It was a skull and a gun done in full color on a green background.

He sent the picture to Ana.

“You think that a gang did that?” Anne asked. 

“Probably some kids,” Henry replied and then looked down the street behind them. He saw other couples and a few groups stumbling out of the bars and clubs on the street.

“My car’s just there,” Henry told Anne and pointed to his tesla. 

“Oh,” The engineer replied. “Is that the new Model S?”

Ana texted him back at 0:18 am. to ask where he’d seen it and to tell him it was Ukranian. He hadn’t seen it until later, too busy trying not to cum prematurely. 

It had been a while since he’d slept with anyone. 

_Do you speak it?_ He’d texted Ana the next morning as he was busy cooking breakfast.

 _I can understand some of it_ , Ana replied. _The Cyrillic languages have a greater perfect difference between them than the Romance ones._

_Where’d you see it?_

When he told her, she replied that she was surprised.

_Why?_

_It’s a pretty gentrified area._

_Fancy word._

_Deny it._

_You can see the Arènes de Nimes from your parent’s apartement._

_Volgograd._

Henry promptly looked the city up and scowled.

_Do you mean Stalingrad?_

_No. Do not call it that._

_Why?_

_You are much too smart to ask such a stupid question._

_Looks like a nice place. As nice as you are._

_That would be an accurate description._

Henry felt guilty. He knew Charlie had called her a bitch to her face, twice. 

_Not really. You’re not an arsehole._

_No. But I’m pretty mean and I’m perfectly fine with that._

That was one of the most self confident things Henry had ever heard and he had to admire that. 

_Is that why you got into tattooing?_

_Because I’m mean? No. It was because I hate math._

_WTF??????_

“Hey, Harry,” Anne said as she came into the kitchen. “Is there a tube station nearby?”

Then she saw the eggs, sausage and toast he was plating. Her mouth fell open. 

Oh no. 

“You’re not vegetarian are you?” He asked.

“No, no,” The tan woman replied. “I’ve just never had someone make me breakfast before.”

Henry was offended on her behalf and let it show on his face.

She was beautiful, clear skinned, full mouthed and interesting, well spoken and very funny. Ana was paler than her and her cheeks were heavier but cheekbones were stronger even though Anne’s were higher; Ana’s chin was more pointed and her eyebrows were thicker. 

He needed to stop comparing them. 

_How do you hate math? You have a_ _joint honors degree_ _in math and physics._

_I thought it was obvious I was miserable during uni._

_It wasn’t._

* * *

The next time Henry saw Ana was at that same hipster coffee shop. He was there with Mary, grabbing breakfast before they drove the two to Cheltanham to watch Charlie compete in the equestrian festival. He’d come in third with his andalusian jumper and Henry would put money on him winning. Would be putting money on him winning. 

She was with two guys from her shop, had her hair braided into two pigtails and in a white dress with a flower pattern. She was carrying a large, long winter coat but Henry was still horrified. 

They did stop by to say hello. 

“She did Charlie’s tattoo?” Mary asked. 

_“Yep,” Henry replied. “Yes she did.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. I feel the need to talk about this chapter so hear we are.
> 
> Volgograd is the fourth or fifth poorest city in Russia and her family has other history that will come out in the future. I'm not sure exactly why I've given her so much shit but if her family lived behind the Iron Curtain then there's going to be some inherited trauma. Additionally, the Rurik's didn't rule all of Russia until the late 16th century under Ivan the Terrible but given I've made the geopolitics closer to the historical time period and the Ruriks united Russia I swapped Putin with Ivan III and his son Vasili III. I didn't feel I could cut out the USSR bc I can make it work with the in this world's geopolitics and it had such a huge influence on the people I know who lived in or had parents who lived in the Soviet Union that I couldn't cut it out.
> 
> On George: I waffled over that part but it was one of the first things I wrote for this fic and it'll come out later that Henry was a massive influence on George and I think it'll be a really sweet plotline. 
> 
> Knightsbridge is one of the wealthiest parts on London btw. 
> 
> On Thomas Boleyn: Historically a decent dad except he cut Mary out when she married beneath her station so him cutting Ana out for not doing what was expected of her (spoliers lol) is the most accurate part of his character in this fic. With the adultery: I just wanted to write a family to contrast Henry's in several ways. 
> 
> Happy New Year folks! Let me know what you think!
> 
> EDIT: Bc I forgot. The House of Lords actually had their powers limited in 1999 and there were other bills in the 1940's that did that as well. IDK why I gave them more power other than to make Henry and Thomas More eventually fall out. 
> 
> Additionally if you want an idea of Charlie/Henry's tattoos look at David Jorquera, Jeremiah Barba and Eric De L'étoile's tattoos.


	6. Chapter 6

Henry was loose limbed and stretched out on the couch in front of Dr. Butts. He’d parted his hair at the side like he had used to but hadn’t straightened it. He wasn’t even sure if he owned a straightener any more.

Frankly, he hoped he didn’t.

“I hated my curls, you know,” He said out of nowhere. They’d been talking about Charlie and Mary and Meg. Mary wanted a baby sooner rather than later, partially because of her stepdaughters. 

Millie and Anika were nice kids from what Henry knew of them and that was quite a while. Henry had been there both times while his C.O. cried over the pictures of his pink faced newborns during their two tours together. 

A baby per deployment, that’s what Charlie had.

Meg had told Mary to parent her step-daughters and wait until she’d finished graduate school to get pregnant.

Mary had not been happy and Henry had been dragged into the middle of a texting storm. 

“When I was younger,” He continued. “I used to get teased for straightening them but….”

He shrugged.

“With straight hair I looked like my grandfather.”

“Your maternal grandfather?” Dr. Butts asked. They’d talked about Edward Plantagenant a dozen times before but it seemed they would be having it another dozen times.

“Yeah,” Henry said. “I grew up with stories of Edward, you know. He was…..”

A hero of the civil war. A giant. A good husband. 

“...so charismatic,” Henry continued. “I remember the first time I saw a video of him. It was in a year five or six class; maybe year four but he had this way of making you feel like you were soaring. I wanted to have known him but I felt like I did. He had this way of making people feel like they were his friends. I just wanted to be him. I admired him. I’d played soldier since as long as I could remember but I wanted to follow him into war, you know?”

“Yes,” Dr. Butts said. “Yes, I do. I definitely do.”

“It was like; I wanted to be remembered alongside him,” Henry replied. “My mum used to say I looked like him. She’d call me _her general_ . Arthur was _her little earl;_ Meg _her darling baby_ and Mary was _her Mary Rose_.”

“Would you say there was an expectation you would take after him?” Dr. Butts asked. Henry scowled. 

“No,” He replied. “Absolutely not. Not from her. She just told us all stories. There was nothing there.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Elizabeth Tudor has said before he shipped out for the first time. “I’m so very, very proud. Sometimes when I look at you now I see my father and Henry too. You are so brave and so smart and you’re going to come back to me.”

When he’d come back she hadn’t been there. His father had buried her before Henry had even been told she was gone.

Meg hadn’t gotten home for Scotland in time. Mary hadn’t been brought home from boarding school. 

Henry Sr. been hospitalised a few weeks later for depression. His grandmother had said he’d stopped bathing. 

Henry hadn’t cared then. He still didn’t. 

“My hair was really all I got from my father,” Henry told him. “And, well, you know how I feel about him.”

“You’ve said before,” Dr. Butts replied and started tapping his fingers. “That he demanded admiration and respect from you and your siblings but didn’t seem to care if you loved him.”

“Mmmhmm,” Henry nodded. 

“Do you think,” Dr. Butts asked. “And I might be completely wrong-that Edward earned admiration because he seemed to respect those around him? Or do you think it was a result of charisma and success.”

“Probably all three,” Henry replied. “But that wasn’t it with my father. He wanted respect, yes. He wanted us to admire him but he wanted to be admired for what we did too. I always thought he thought he was entitled to our successes but our failures were always our fault. ”

Henry paused and started to jig his left leg, curling over on himself. He remembered Marie crying, drunk and in the backseat of his car, and how she’d said that her father left because of Ana.

“It wasn’t Mum,” She had told him. “He’d been cheating for, what? Ten, fifteen years. There were women before _her_. He just wanted Ana so much he got rid of George and me.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry had said, rubbing her back. His phone had been in his back pocket, vibrating with texts from Bessie. 

“You know,” Mary had continued. “He told Mum that he didn’t think I was his.”

“What?” Henry had asked, angered on her behalf. “Is he a moron?”

But he had seen it at that moment. She looked like her mother while George and Ana were their father’s children. 

Ana more than either of her half siblings.

Yet she was the least similar to her father in so many ways. 

Funny how that worked out.

“Why wasn’t I enough?” Mary had cried. “Why weren’t George and me enough?”

“You are,” Henry had replied, holding her head to his chest and rocked her as if she was a baby. “You’ve always been enough.” 

“So,” He said. “You know. My tattoo artist.”

“Marie’s sister,” Dr. Butts nodded his head.

“She’s good,” Henry continued. “Like. Better than everyone else she works with. And she loves her job like grandfather loved his country, he loved his wife and he _loved_ his men. They’re both- _she is, he was_ -proud of their work.”

Dr. Butts nodded his head.

“Ana’s _Ana_ ,” Henry continued. “She’s just….”

He stopped talking. He could see her eyes and her thin upper lip as clearly as if she was standing in front of him. He could see how the black leather watch she wore contrasted with her blue surgical gloves and her skin. 

“Snooty,” Henry decided. 

Beautiful. 

“What do you mean?” Dr. Butts asked.

“Haughty, confident, smug,” Henry explained. “Kind. Disapproving. Sometimes, I remember when she was younger, I would feel like she could ask _why should I waste my time on you_ with just her face.”

“And you admire that?” Dr. Butts asked. 

“Yes,” He replied. “Yes I do. She, even when she was a kid, always knew what she was worth. And she was- _is_ -so smart but, we’ve been texting, and I don’t think it means much to her.”

“How so?” Dr. Butts responded.

“She hated Oxford,” Henry told him. “And she won’t do math unless she has to these days.”

“And why do you find that admirable?” Dr. Butts asked. Henry could hear a slight disapproval in his voice. 

“I remember everyone at uni-and I did this too-always talked about how smart she was. Like that was why everyone liked her or hated her but she just, well, quit from something….well, I remember how, before I got my ADHD diagnosis, I always felt dumb so...she gave up being considered smart.” Henry replied. “Gave up something I wanted to be respected for so much. She would have been a Professor or a researcher or something where people just look at you and go _oh you’re bright_.”

“There are different forms of intelligence,” Dr. Butts said. “Someone may struggle in one area but be very good in another. Even the different scientific fields require different sets of skills. A physicist might not be good at biology but a biologist might be a talented chemist.”

“Meg says STEM fields can be old boys clubs,” Henry responded, barreling right past the point. “But...she...I don’t think Ana’s ever cared? She would have been phenomenal, though, if she didn’t quit. Even if she wasn’t given respect for simply being, well, _her,_ she probably could’ve been intimidating and was talented enough to get it.”

Ana’s mouth smiled behind his eyes and she raised one sharp eyebrow. He wondered what it would be like to wipe it off her face. He’d have to make her laugh, or make her cum so hard she didn’t move for five minutes.

That wasn’t true. He hated his brain. 

He’d seen her face without that smile withouting needing to do either. 

“I mean, she was always doing something when she was at uni. It’s like she’s always got a goal; a purpose and, yeah, I suppose I wanted to be like that back then. _No_ .” Henry continued. “My father would have wanted me to be like that- _had wanted me to._ I just wanted to pass my classes, run and party. But, my dad, he always looked at my class standings-my highest was tenth in year 13-and wondered how I couldn’t manage the workload. Like, at Eton? No one could manage it unless they were cheating like Prince Harry did. Everyone else just had coffee and adderall and their flashcards.”

“Did this start before Eton or while you were there?” Dr. Butts asked.

“Before,” Henry replied. “But it got worse while I was there. I’d tell him that he didn’t understand that it was _Eton_ so if he put me in a public school I’d have the top or second standing but he’d say he went to boarding school. He’d tell me to be better, as if his school didn’t have eight hundred students, as if there wasn’t a difference between some place in Brittany and _Eton_. My mum always wanted me in clubs. She was disappointed when I dropped tennis and debate but she understood and she was so happy when I told her I wanted to run in uni. My father thought-was probably worried-it would be a distraction because God forbid I do anything else but study.” 

“So,” Dr. Butts said. “Just to be clear, you admire Ana because she seemed to be unaffected by pressure others put on her.”

“Yeah,” Henry said and nodded. “I like her more now she’s happy. She’s nicer I suppose now.”

Ana, who used to slam doors when he and Marie slept past nine and set a box of trash bags in front of their door the mornings after Marie had parties. 

As if she wasn’t drinking right alongside them.

Ana, who picked his laundry out of her hamper when he accidentally put it in there instead of Mary’s and dumped it on the kitchen counter or the couch or, one memorable time, in his bag. He’d had to dig through three days worth of clothes to get a notebook out. 

“It was a shock, though, to find out this certified genius, like _this Einstein_ quit.” Henry continued. After he’d finished staring at his ex’s baby sister’s arse. 

“Why do you feel she was quitting?” Dr Butts replied. 

When he got out of his therapist’s office he had a text from Ana, telling him she’d be running ten minutes late and apologizing for it.

* * *

Ana Boleyn had run the numbers and had found it was closer to 8.46 minutes. 

A group of five Frenchmen had come in and asked for one of Will’s flash tattoos from the window. Ana had popped her head out from where she was drawing in her booth when she heard their accents. 

They were from Paris. 

Will was with a client as was everyone else, except Mark, who was out for the day and Francis who had a booking at 14:00 pm. 

“I can do it,” Ana had offered in French as she looked over Francis’ shoulder. It was a simple, cracked tombstone with a moon with a demon face over it and a bit of grass in one corner. “How large do you want them?”

“I thought you had a booking tonight?” Francis said. 

“At 5,” She replied. It was 13:37 pm. She knew that off the top of her head. 

That was 2 hours and 58 minutes. 

35 minutes and 10 seconds per tattoo.

Henry took an average of 7.5 minutes in the bathroom when he arrived but he arrived 10.67 to 11 minutes early every time. Probably earlier because she didn’t sit by the door and wait for him.

2 hours and 47 minutes. 33.4 minutes per tattoo. 

He’d been 10.15 minutes early to the first appointment. 

Ana felt fury bubble up in her belly at the fact she knew that. He’d worn a blue suit that had a stain on his right sleeve and carried more of his weight on his right leg than his left. He’d had his gym bag hanging from his right shoulder which would’ve changed his center of mass. 

Some days Ana didn’t think in such detail but most days she did. She made a mental note to text Tom to replenish her weed supply.

“Can I see that again?” Ana asked. She looked it over quickly. “How big do you want them?”

It turned out they wanted rib tattoos, much to Ana’s irritation. She would need 3 hours to 3 hours and 15 minutes. 

She texted Henry and got a _no problem_ in response. 

“It’ll be eighty five pounds per tattoo,” Ana ended up telling them.

“For these?” One of the guys grumbled. 

“Yes,” Ana replied. “We don’t do bargains and neither does any other shop in the South Bank.”

* * *

When Henry came in, he found Ana setting up her station, weaving around a group of guys who were standing around her mirror, lifting up their shirts and looking at tattoos on their pecs. It was a tombstone with a date on it and a skull for a moon floating overhead. It looked like one of the drawings in the shop’s window but that moon had horns and a tongue sticking out.

Ana’s hair was tied in a ponytail at the base of her skull and she was speaking French with the men. 

He could have sworn she brightened up when she saw him. 

It took her a good five minutes to shoo the Frenchmen out of the shop, amongst a chorus of grumbles, thanks and the exchange of wads of money. Henry was sprawled on the table, watching her as she came back and put it in her purse.

“Sorry about that,” Ana told him. “They came in and I was worried I wouldn’t finish in time.”

“Did you?” Henry replied. 

“Yes,” Ana said. “They stayed to talk though.”

“Uni students?” Henry asked.

“Businessmen out for drinks,” Ana replied and grabbed her ipad. “Take look at the eyes.”

She’d put bright white highlights in the centers to give the impression of pupils. She’d also darkened out the whites of the eyes around the irises so they appeared grey. 

“So….” She began.

“Yes,” Henry cut her off. “Yes, please.”

Ana smiled then, sharp and toothy. 

_Good boy_.

* * *

“How are your sisters?” Ana asked as she worked. 

“Good,” Henry told her. “Meg’s having a girl.”

“Congratulations. How far along is she?” Ana asked. 

“She’s due in June,” He replied. 9 to 12 weeks then. 

“And how’s Mary?” Ana said. Charlie had brought a picture of Mary to use as a reference for the women’s face on his back. 

Ana had said no straight away. She was beautiful with eyes that were nearly identical to Henry’s and hair only a few shades lighter than her own but she hadn’t worked not with how her face was shaped. The face needed to be longer and Ana had, over the course of six months, built half of his back to accommodate for that. 

Perhaps she’d been an arse but if he’d wanted her face on him he should have gone to a portrait artist. 

“Good,” Henry replied as his leg jumped. 

Ana dropped her body weight onto her right forearm at the top of his thigh pushing it down. 

“She was with you at the Hever, right?” Ana asked. She knew that that was Mary. She’d recognized the face immediately but still thought it was better to ask. She liked the sound of his voice after all.

Charlie had said she was his wife last October when he’d brought the picture in. 

_Fucking lying ass._

But to her or to Henry she didn’t know.

“Yeah,” Henry replied. “We were going to one of Charlie’s equestrian events.”

“How’d he do?” Ana asked. She hoped he came in last.

“Oh,” Henry said. “He won in two categories.”

“Good for him,” Ana grumbled. Henry whimpered as her mag needles shaded over a varicose vein and Ana glanced up at his face. He was pale but his eyes were open. He tended to close them when the pain was nearly intolerable. 

She worked in silence for 21.8 minutes before Henry spoke. 

“What happened between you and Charlie?” He asked. “Did you just irritate each other? Or was it the tattoo? He told me you’re anal as can be.”

Ana was _meticulous_. 

“No,” Ana replied. “He said, on a day I had a sore throat, and I quote: _I’ve heard of happy endings at a massage parlor but never one in a tattoo shop._ ”

Ana had replied _that that was the only place he got a happy ending from, other than his hand, so could he tell her the going rate._

“Jesus,” Henry hissed. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t say it,” Ana replied. “He’s an adult not your child.”

Henry flinched and swallowed. He started to fiddle with his watch. It was different from the one he’d worn the last four times he’d come in. 

“But he shouldn’t have said that to you,” Henry said. “I’m surprised you didn’t throw him out. He thinks he’s funny but just crosses lines sometimes.”

Ana took her weight off her right arm and used it to tug on his thigh, looking over her work. 

“By the time he said that,” Ana responded. “His tattoo was six and a half hours from being finished and one of the best I’ve ever done. I still get bookings from clients who say they wish that was on their backs. I won one hundred and fifty pounds when I submitted it to a competition. If it hadn’t been for that, I would have thrown him out by the ear.”

“Your art means that much to you?” Henry asked. She shook her head no.

The 150 pounds from the competition had gone into her savings for the down payment to get a studio flat.

0.5 of the men she’d tattooed earlier would pay for the rest. 

And it had been a dry season for her when Charlie had said that. She’d only had two other bookings scheduled and there weren’t many walk ins. 

“He agreed he wouldn’t speak to me again while I worked,” Ana said instead of explaining. 

“Yeah,” Henry replied. “He mentioned that.”

But, clearly, not the whole truth. 

“I’ll never do something like that again,” Ana said. That was true. She wouldn’t. When she had gotten home that night, she’d been so humiliated that she’d lied in bed and cried for an hour. 

“Charlie said you nearly took his face off,” Henry replied. “You should have done it.”

“I didn't want to get arrested,” Ana snorted. “Alright. We’re about done.”

“Your boss didn’t make you...?” Henry asked.

“I didn’t tell Norris until I was done with him,” Ana replied. “He was _fucking_ livid. Your brother in law is permanently banned.”

“Good,” Henry grunted. Ana raised an eyebrow and told him to sit up with his legs off the table so she could get a look at the inside of his thigh.

“If you’re up for it today?” Ana asked and watched that same blush crawl up his neck.

* * *

Henry called Charlie after they were done, fuming. He didn’t pick up but Henry didn’t leave a voicemail, the two minutes of ringing in his ear had been enough to calm him down. 

Who was he to defend Ana?

But why shouldn’t he?

It was foolish. Most women didn’t like that one bit.

Bessie and Marie had. Marie had liked it so very much when he’d told her father to lay off of her for losing her third job in four years that she’d blown him in the kitchen. 

He really shouldn’t have. He’d hated it more than anything else about her, even how messy she was.

It had to have been Ana cleaning the flat she and Marie had had during uni. Marie would leave dishes in the sink for hours when they lived together. She’d leave stuff from work crumpled in amongst her wedding magazine cut outs. She’d take books off the shelves and pile them on the coffee table so Henry would have nowhere to set a cup or a plate. She’d always leave heels by the bedroom door so he had to pick them up or risk tripping in the dead of night. 

She hadn’t left her makeup around the sink. She kept that neatly organised on the shelf. 

She’d bought salad instead of pasta, in those first months after he’d come home from the hospital, no matter how much he complained. She’d thrown dinner parties which had been just an excuse for him to play video games with Charlie, Meg and Arthur or to talk politics with Wolsey, Cromwell and More. She’d gone swimming with him nearly everyday after he’d told her he hated that more than anything else he had to do for PT. 

She’d also washed the sheets once a week while Henry had been in the habit of doing it whenever he had sex. 

Henry now washed them once a week like clothwork. They were nicer that way.

* * *

Ana’s apartment was nicer when she was the only one home. She could watch Spartacus or Black Sails or Rome on the TV without having to worry about Jane coming in. Mark didn’t mind, he normally would sit with her and sketch human bodies. 

He wanted to incorporate more of a greco-roman style into his tattoos apparently. When he got to tattoo faces and bodies that was. 

Ana thought he liked the plot and the soft core porn as much as she did.

Jane Seymour, little Catholic girl that she was, said it made her uncomfortable. She’d put a cross on the wall above the TV when she’d come in to find Ana and Mark watching Robb Stark bang the not-Jeyne-Westerling on Game of Thrones. 

Perfect timing, as always.

They’d turned it off, because they were respectful, decent human beings despite what Jane told her brother over the phone while she didn’t know Ana was in the flat. She’d also called them dumb because _what if Mark needs to get another job, no one would hire him with the tattoo on his hand. And I don’t think Ana’s done anything else. Maybe she could teach art?_

Ana had left her Oxford diploma on the coffee table the next day and claimed she was doing some room cleaning when Jane asked about it. 

“Oh!” Ana had said as she took it from her roommate. “That’s where that went!”

“I didn’t know you went to Oxford,” Jane had replied. Ana had shrugged. 

“I don’t do physics anymore so it’s not that important.” Ana had said.

It had been so, so satisfying to see the blonde girl’s eyes bug out of their sockets at that moment.

Afterall, who said a degree from Oxford was unimportant? 

“I didn’t know you believed in all that stuff,” Jane had said, clearly having seen Ana’s grin.

_Fuck her._

“I didn’t know you thought the world was six thousand years old,” Ana had replied. 

She could have guessed it though. 

Ana had a text from her dad, asking her to call him when she got home. She took a shower, ate and popped open a bottle of wine before she opened her phone. She didn’t bother with a glass, throwing herself on the couch with the bottle in hand. 

Ana took three big swigs while she waited for him to pick up. 

“Hello?” Her father said.

“Hi,” Ana replied. “It’s me.”

“How’ve you been?” He asked. 

“Good,” She replied. 

“Is work going well?” He said. She took another swig. 

“Very well, actually,” Ana chirped. “I’m booked through the end of October.”

Not in the way he thought, she had enough time for walk-ins, but she was averaging 13 different clients a week. 

Up from last year’s average of 9.5

“Congratulations,” Thomas Boleyn replied. 

He’d wanted to ask about the possibility of graduate school like he always did. She’d learned 2.8 years ago not to give him an opening. 

“How are you?” Ana asked. 

“You’re mother and I are in Spain right now,” Thomas said. “I’m closing a negotiation for a security contract tomorrow but we’ll be staying. She wants to go to Barcelona for a few days.”

Her mother could travel with him, only having even had Ana, who had left her nest long ago. She used to wonder if her mother worried about her father running off with another woman but she’d done the math after Mary had mentioned a summer in Volgograd.

Ana was born on May 19th, 1998 and Elizabeth Howard and Marie had been living with Thomas in August of 1997, when she was conceived. . They’d gone back to France for the school year, giving her father and mother free reign to live as they pleased. 

That made it worse in some way. Not for Ana but probably for Elizabeth and her siblings, if they’d made the same calculation she had. 

“Ask her to send me pictures,” Ana said. 

“I will,” Thomas replied.

Elizaveta already sent Ana pictures from wherever they traveled. 

“I saw you updated your Instagram this evening,” Her father said. She had posted a photo of the face she’d put on Henry’s leg just after she’d added onto it.

Ana hadn’t done eyes like that before. 

“Yes,” Ana replied. If they stopped talking again she would block him on there.

 _When_ they stopped talking again the first thing she was going to do was block him on there. She’d already done it on Facebook the first time he’d disowned her. 

“It’s rather masculine,” He commented. Ana wondered if he’d even looked at the rest of her work. “And rather dark.”

“It’s on a man,” Ana replied. She took another gulp of wine.

A soldier. 

“Do you ever tattoo women?” Thomas asked.

“I’ve seen more skin at Le Grau du Roi than I do at work.” Ana shot back. 

“That’s not what I meant, Anouska,” Thomas replied. She took a sip of wine. 

“Then why say it?” Ana asked. There was a moment’s silence.

“My daughter spends her time….”

“We’ve had this conversation,” Ana cut him off. “Botticelli, Boucher and Stettheimer spent their time looking at naked women.”

And shagged some of them.

“That’s not what I meant,” Thomas said. 

“Then why say it?” Ana asked again. This time it came out shrill and loud. She took a deep gulp of her wine, nearly draining it to the bottom. A movement caught the corner of her eye and she turned her head to see Jane closing the door. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” He replied. “How is Henry Percy?”

Ana almost groaned. Last they’d spoken on the phone she’d still been with him. 

That had been eight months ago. She needed more wine. 

She got off the couch and walked to the kitchen, nodding to Jane as she did. She threw the wine bottle out as quietly as she could.

“I dumped him,” Ana said. She grabbed the vodka and made for her room.

“That’s a pity,” Her father replied. “He seemed good for you. Are you still friends at least?”

He was still _half_ the adult she had been since she was thirteen years old.

“No,” Ana said.

“Why not?” 

“Because all he was good for was doing cocaine,” Ana snapped, properly drunk. 

That wasn’t fair at all but she didn’t care. 

“Why on earth did you stay with him for four years?” Thomas asked. “What on earth were you thinking being with him? Do you know the risks for becoming an addict if your partner is one? Are you doing drugs?”

Ana nearly groaned. She should have seen it coming.

Ana popped open her laptop as he spoke. She might as well be productive while he ranted. 

“No to the first,” Ana replied. “No to the second. Yes to the third and no, not at all.”

 _Yes_. Occasionally. 

“That’s why I left him,” She continued. 

It wasn’t. Not entirely 

“Did you try and get him into rehab?” Thomas asked. 

“I’d decided he wasn’t my problem by the time it got that bad,” Ana replied. Her father huffed out a little laugh.

“Good for you, sweetheart,” He said. “That was very responsible.”

_What else had she ever been?_

She had 4 tattoo inquiries in her inbox and a reply from her preferred prospective landlord.

“Thanks,” Ana grunted. 

Of the tattoo inquiries 3 were from women. It almost made her snicker. She looked them up on Facebook, while she spoke to her father and drank her vodka. 

“What’ve you been doing outside of work?” Thomas asked her as she scrolled through the profile of a rather clean cut mom of three. 

Ana replied to her first. She thought they’d get on quite well. 

“Drawing mostly,” Ana said. “I’m going to try and develop temporary tattoos.”

“If you’re having financial issues your mother and I would be happy to give you a loan,” Thomas replied. Ana felt the sudden urge to smash her head against her desk until she bled. 

“I’m actually going to be moving into a one bedroom flat soon enough,” Ana told him. “With some luck it’ll be at the top of a townhouse.”

“You’re able to afford that?” Thomas asked.

“It’s in a modified attic,” Ana said. “But the view looks marvelous.”

They’d cut the attic up into two tiny flats. Only one had a bathroom door, the other just had a curtain. 

“Make sure you don’t overextend yourself,” Thomas said. 

She had 18,418 pounds between her checking, main savings and travel accounts as well as 1,679 in stock as of that morning. She also was due to get the rest of her inheritance from her grandmother when she turned 21. It would take approximately 8 months to be evicted if she was suddenly unable to make a living, factoring in food, and utilities which were not discussed on the listing. 

Ana needed to check the stock market before bed. 

“I will,” Ana replied. 

At the very worst, the flat would be an excuse to live closer to the Nightcrow, blast rock music whenever she pleased, have enough room in the fridge to cook proper meals, and to tack her more disturbing sketches up on a cork board on the wall without Jane or Mark complaining. 

She wouldn’t have to make small talk with Jane’s church group ever Wednesday. She wouldn’t have to hear Mark argue with his boyfriend whenever he slept over nor ever walk in on Jane and a one night stand going at it in the kitchen ever again.

Ana had nearly stayed in the doorway and applauded. 

At its best the flat would be a home for a few years. 

There were others, of course, that could serve the last 6 functions perfectly but she was growing tired of her 30 to 40 minute Tube commute even if Mark kept her company. 

She flipped through the last of her prospective clients and an ad popped up that would likely make someone call to complain to Facebook. A model with blonde hair and red mouth in a tight dress that’s bodice exactly resembled a bra looked at Ana with haughty eyes and her head chin lifted up. 

She clicked on the ad and took another drink of vodka. 

“Take care of yourself,” Thomas Boleyn said to her. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” She replied. Ana didn’t think he noticed he said _I love you_ 64 percent more than before she’d tossed away her grad school offers. 

That calculation included the fact that they had spoken only 5 times in the past 17 months, when he’d asked her mother to hand him the phone while Ana and her were talking.

Ana sniffled and wiped her nose on her pajama sleeve. 

She took one last drink of vodka and went and put it away. 

When she came back the skirt set was still open on her laptop. Ana looked it over, realising that it looked like a dress only because the Gable Hood set came with a bodysuit. The skirt went up to the eighth or ninth rib, enabling the illusion. It was on sale at 216.80 pounds; panties, garter, bodysuit, thong, bra and stockings included with the skirt and bodysuit. 

The Frenchmen had paid her 425 pounds in cash, tucked away in her purse, to be deposited in the morning along with the 150 pounds from a morning appointment and another 100 pounds from a walkin. 

Henry had paid 410 pounds on paypal as he always did. 300 hundred for the session and a 110 pound tip. 

Ana selected her sizes and clicked checkout. 

It would be coming the week of the 19th of May. 

She supposed she could, _technically_ , say that Henry Tudor bought her lingerie for her birthday.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

_ Are we still good for Saturday?  _ Henry messaged Ana after he got out of the pool. It was his habit to reconfirm his business meetings on Mondays and winging his personal ones.

Somehow getting a tattoo had gotten categorized alongside  _ conference-call-with-real-estate-developers at 13:30 on Tuesday _ . 

Several other of the club’s patrons had given him funny looks as his swim shorts were short enough to show his tattoo. It was better than the pitying stares he’d gotten when he’d had to haul himself out of the pool and hobble around on crutches or in a wheelchair to get to the locker room. He’d wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves but had held his tongue. 

He’d sworn to Dr. Butts that it was a miracle of God or something. 

It had been the therapist’s suggestion that he started going at 7:00 am military time in the morning to avoid everyone but the people who worked a nine to five job. He’d taken it and found it helped. 

The kids had, overall, been the worst but who brought their kids to a gentlemen's club?

Apparently, quite a few people he didn’t recognize but still got Yule party invitations from. 

_ Yes,  _ Ana got back to him a half an hour later. He’d never taken her for an early riser these days. 

Or perhaps he’d imagined she’d stopped getting up at the crack of dawn after she got her degree.. 

He knew he’d stopped doing it after he nearly got his legs blown off and stopped giving a damn about military regulations. 

A text bubble sat on his screen for a good few minutes as he changed in the locker room and toweled of his hair. His curls were a shaggy, frizzy mess because he’d run out of his good conditioner the week before and hadn’t gotten around to going to the shop.

_ My birthday’s on Friday,  _ She asked.  _ Would you like to come? There’ll be no presents but a lot of booze. _

_ Who am I to refuse such an offer?  _ He replied.

* * *

Ana’s new apartment was as small as she expected. She had mapped it in her head before she’d even toured it, after all. She would put a desk in the corner by the window. She had to, anywhere else and would block the bathroom or the kitchen or make her squeeze her way to the front door. She’d hang her cork board right above it and put the printer Norris was throwing out to it’s right, underneath the window. 

Her ELP I poster was already on the wall by the door and her Lannister and Bolton banners would hang around the bathroom door. 

She’d already gotten a rack to put the clothes that wouldn’t fit in her closet. It would go by her desk and her wound man poster would go above it. She’d hang her Messier 82 poster to the right of her bed, so that it would reflect off the mirror on her closet door. 

Mark was in the doorway, talking to Madge Shelton about the latest show at the art gallery where she worked and Ana was supposed to be unpacking her bedframe from the bubble wrap she’d put it in when her phone rang. 

She’d been texting Henry instead. 

It was Jane Seymour. Ana picked up, guessing that Jane thought she’d forgotten something. Unfortunately, Ana did not have that luxury. 

Ana scanned her memory and found nothing but picked up the phone anyways. 

“What’s up?” Ana asked when it hit her. The skirt set was due to be dropped off today. 

_ Shit. _

“A package just came in for you,” Jane replied. Ana wanted to curse but she did not.

“When can I come pick it up?” Ana asked. 

“Anytime before four-thirty today,” Jane told her. “Text me and I’ll let you in.”

“Thanks Jane,” Ana replied.

“You’re welcome,” Jane said. Ana hesitated before hanging up, feeling the urge to say something else. 

Jane hung up for her. 

Ana’s knees cracked when she got to her feet. She wondered how painful that movement had to be for Henry. 

_ Well I got to shake hands with a CEO on Friday, so I suppose that’s something, _ He’d messaged her.  _ And I met the new gameskeeper today. I liked him better. _

_ Of course. All CEOs are sociopaths,  _ She’d replied.

_ Hey! I’ll have you know that I am friends with some very good people! _

_ You sound like that Cortes nutter,  _ Ana texted him back. 

“Hey Madge,” She asked. “Can you give me a lift back to the flat?”

* * *

It was the day before her birthday, a Thursday and, as expected, several of Jane’s church group had lingered after their lunch meeting. She always wondered just how these people held jobs. 

Jane answered the door in a white blouse and jeans, barefoot. Ana expected that there would be new rules being implemented now that Ana and her refusal to take off her shoes outside of her bedroom were gone. 

“Hey,” Ana said. 

“Hi,” Jane replied and stepped alside to let her in. “It’s just here.”

The box was indeed right by her door. It had the Gable Hood’s logo emblazoned on the side and Ana fought the urge to groan. 

“It came in this morning Mrs. Kingston brought it right up when she realised it was yours,” Jane told her. Ana had made the unfortunate mistake of turning in her mail key yesterday and not double checking that she’d had nothing come in before she left. 

She hadn’t left a forwarding address, afterall. 

“Kind of her,” Ana replied and picked up the box. Then she looked at Jane more closely than she had since she’d met her. She saw the slightly uneven mascara and how she tilted her chin down, giving herself the appearance of a double chin. She recognized the worried twist of her mouth. 

Ana wouldn’t have been kind enough to call Jane if she’d moved out and left a package behind.

But, then again, Jane would have left a forwarding address.

She would have sent a text. 

She  _ liked to think _ she would have sent a text.

“Um,” Ana said. She hated feeling guilty even when she hadn’t done the thing that was wrong. “I’m having a birthday get together tomorrow evening. Would you like to come?”

A club and bar hopping adventure, more like. __

Jane’s pale face lit up with a slow, happy grin.

“Yeah,” She said. “Absolutely. I’d love to. Where are you meeting?”

“About eight of us are going to the Bark of Murless,” Ana replied, helfting the box onto her hip and pulling out her phone. “And a few more might come to the Sacrett and the Mermaid after. They’re a club. The Bark’s a bar. Let me text you the address.”

Five more were planning on going to the Scarett. 

She had a message from Henry.

_ Thank you, I think?  _

_ That wasn’t a compliment,  _ Ana replied.  _ He’s talking about starting a war ffs. _

She typed out the address off the top of her head and heard Jane’s phone buzz as she got it. 

“We’re all meeting there around nine-twenty or nine-thirty,” Ana said.    
“Sounds perfect,” Jane replied. “How far is it from the Tube?”

“A six and half minute walk,” Ana said. “It’s rather well lit and there’s typically a lot of people around but I’d suggest you get a cab or go home with Mark if you come clubbing with us after.”

“Thanks,” Jane replied, then she lowered her voice. “Can I bring a date?” 

“The more the merrier,” Ana said, shrugged and grinned. “And you don’t need to bring a present. No one else will be.”

“Oh,” Jane replied. “Well, that’s a relief. Thanks.”

Ana knew it was time to go. Her welcome would be overstayed if she waited another moment. It was awkward enough as it was yet she swallowed and summoned up her courage. 

“Thank you,” She said. “For calling about the package.”

“It’s no problem,” Jane shrugged. 

_ Fuck it. _

“And for being a good roommate,” Ana continued. “I really appreciated it.”

“Oooh,” Jane said as if she was talking to a puppy. She stepped forward and gave Ana a hug. Ana returned it, wrapping her free arm around Jane’s back. 

When she looked over her shoulder she saw Francis Bryan grinning at her.

“Well,” He said. “Isn’t it a small world?”

* * *

_ The Aztecs would slaughter his forces,  _ Henry replied, referring to Cortes.  _ And his power comes from Spain. They won’t ok an invasion when their cold war’s heating up again. _

_ What does your SIL think?  _ Ana texted back. 

Ex-lover as well but sister-in-law seemed more politically correct. 

_ I haven’t asked, why? _

Marie had brought Catherine up when they last spoke and said she was officially seeing someone new which Ana thought was good. 

If it didn’t go to shit faster than the last one allegedly had. 

She wondered what Henry would say about it if she asked him. He’d banged  _ that _ sister in law, bailed Ana’s sister out of jail and told her the only thing she was good for was looking good on camera and that’s why he wanted to marry her. 

It had not happened in that order but it was the list Marie had given her. 

_ Infanta of Castille and Aragon _ , Ana replied.

_ She can’t take a political stance. _

Ana sent an emoji with a raised eyebrow.

_ She thinks he needs to be replaced ASAP before he starts WWIII.  _

_ Sounds about right.  _

The Aztecs and Incas were the first countries to develop nuclear power and the former had an alliance of mutual defense with the Ottomans and the Mughals. Sometimes she found it funny that Western Europeans sat in their little countries with their quarrels and papacy and thought they were at the summit of the world when such other countries existed. 

She’d never really talked politics with her sister. Henry hadn’t had much of an interest in them either when he was at uni.

Or perhaps he’d never said anything around her. 

Marie’s new boyfriend was a stock broker, with a beard and curly hair. Ana had immediately started comparing him to Henry before she’d caught herself. Henry was better looking . Even with a beard he would still be hotter. He had a better hairline and a better jawline and a pale, nice throat. 

She wanted to kiss it and tattoo it if only to find out how sensitive it was. 

She also needed to text Thomas Wyatt and see if he was off again with her girlfriend but she’d probably find out on her birthday anyways. 

_ Do you vote Labour?  _ Henry messaged her. 

_ Yes,  _ Ana replied.  _ Immigrant remember? _

_ Yep. You’ve never let anyone forget. _

_ What’s that supposed to mean? _

_ Your accent comes out often enough,  _ Henry replied. 

_ Arse. _

_ What? It’s cute. _

Ana looked down at the screen. She’d heard that a dozen times before. 

_ Why?  _ Ana replied. 

_ Because I wonder whether it’s Russian or French everytime I hear it.  _

_ And you find that cute? _

_ Yes.  _

_ Are you high? _

_ No.  _

Ana found she didn’t believe him. She watched her screen as he texted away for a good 45 seconds.

_ You’re an interesting person,  _ was what Henry came up with.  _ So yes, I find your accent cute because it adds to the mystique of Ana Boleyn.  _

Anouska Trofimovna Howranskeva. 

Anouska Annamarie Boleyn. 

Ana.  __

_ So you’re curious about me then? _

_ Yes, I rather like mysteries afterall.  _

_ Let’s play twenty questions then,  _ Ana typed. She felt a flash of regret the moment she pressed the send button.

They already knew quite a bit about each other after all or rather she remembered more of him than he did of her. Marie had told her he’d become more distant after his injury. His humor became more targeted and less self deprecating. 

_ What’s your favorite color?  _ Henry asked and Ana snorted.

_ Green. Wbu? _

Yellow. His favorite color was yellow.

_ Blue,  _ Henry replied.

His favorite color  _ had been _ yellow at uni.

_ Is that why you’re @greensleeves?  _ He asked. 

_ No shit, Sherlock.  _ Ana replied.  _ BTW have you seen that show? _

_ Yes. He reminded me of you.  _

_ So you consider yourself my Watson? _

_ No,  _ Henry replied.  _ More like your Inspector Lestrade. _

* * *

He’d rather like to think of himself as a more Moriarty-like character but he didn’t want to all but declare war on Ana. That would be a disaster. 

He could still remember the time she’d recited the recipe and assembly instructions for a chlorine bomb off the top of her head. It had been at a party, when he’d spilled his drink down her top and she’d said something insulting about his family. 

It had ended with her pushing him onto a snogging couple on the couch.

She’d apologized to him the next morning. The only time she’d ever done that without Marie having to twist her arm. 

“Morning, Tudor,” Ana had said, coming up behind him while he was cooking bacon. He had his mouth stuffed with toast and no shirt on because he’d forgotten Marie’s little sister had moved in.

They’d carried on for a year before that, Henry going to hers and her to his whenever they pleased. He’d been given a two week warning that consisted of  _ FYI my sister’s living with me.  _

He hadn’t found out she was thirteen til the day he met her. 

He had also tended to be scatterbrained while hungover.

“Morning,” Henry had grunted out. She’d gone to the coffee pot, grabbed a mug and poured herself a cup. He hadn’t said anything about it. 

The girl had been in uni just like him.

They had stood in silence while he chewed his toast and Ana sipped her steaming mug.

“Hey, Tudor,” She had said. He had looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sorry about last night. I’ve never been drunk before.”

“It’s alright,” Henry had replied. “All’s well that ends well, kid.”

He’d barely remembered what happened, afterall. 

Except for the part about the chlorine bomb and how viscerally uncomfortable he’d felt as he’d scurried off to throw a shirt on. 

_ How’s your day going?  _ Henry messaged her.

_ Is that question 18 or small talk?  _ She replied. They’d gotten derailed so many times while they talked that Henry had forgotten about the game.

Ana never did. 

_ Small talk _ .

_ Very good, thank you. HBU? _

_ Busy.  _

He was sitting on his couch, reading a book on his ipad and trying to find the motivation to get up and play piano or eat lunch or  _ something _ before the day was wasted. 

_ What do you do again?  _ She asked.

_ Be rich _ , He replied. 

_ LOL. But what do you actually do? _

_ Estate management.  _

_ So that wasn’t a joke? _

_ I’ll have you know it’s harder than it looks.  _

_ Then what does a normal day look like for you? _

_ Is that your question 18? _

_ I’m at 19 but yes it is. _

Henry scratched his forehead and thought about it for an embarrassingly long time.

* * *

Anne met Henry for dinner on Thursday as they had planned. She was in cuffed jeans, a grey blazer and derbies. 

“Hey,” She said and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she sat down. “I didn’t realise this place would be so upscale.”

Lincoln’s Inn wasn’t anywhere near the poshest place he’d been in the past two days. 

“They had an opening,” Henry replied. All he’d had to do was ask for a booking for the Duke of York and their table had been provided. “So how’ve you been?”

They’d gone out ten times in the past month and slept together every time, except for the one when she was on her period. 

“Good,” She said. “I’ve got a new project at work.”

“What for?” Henry replied. Her eyes lit up as she began to talk and grew even brighter when he made a show of paying attention even though he couldn’t understand one quarter of what she was saying. 

He wondered what Ana would make of it. 

And then what Dr. Butts would think if Henry told him he was comparing his date to his ex’s girlfriend. He knew the older man well enough to know he wouldn’t react visibly but would ask  _ what parallels do you see between them? _

Henry could list two dozen similarities and three dozen differences if he tried. 

“So they’re going to make you the lead engineer?” Henry asked.

“No,” She shook her head. “They’ve hired a consultant.”

“Waste of money if you ask me,” Henry replied. 

The waiter came over with their wine and Henry let Anne pick. She went for the cheapest one and Henry knew he’d be bracing himself for an argument over the bill when they’d finished. 

He’d picked a place that was probably out of her price range so he should be the one to pay. 

She disagreed, every single time.

It had been refreshing or, well, as refreshing as an argument could be.

Marie had been fine with him paying for everything as had Bessie, the few times they went out. 

“One of my coworkers is getting married in June,” Anne said. “By the way.”

“Congratulations,” Henry replied, knowing where this was going. 

“They just sent out invitations today,” Anne continued. “She’s invited everyone in the office, which is great, she organizes our Yule parties and they’re fun.”

“Where are they getting married?” Henry asked. 

“Poland,” Anne said. 

“Really?” Henry replied. Most of the wood coming to repair Hampton was being shipped from Poland. It was a country that was rich in natural resources but it’s economy was still on the mend from it’s old communist regime or whatever. 

Ana would know. 

The thought startled him. 

“Her fiancé is polish,” Anne said. 

“I’m surprised they scheduled it so last minute,” Henry commented. 

“Oh, no,” Anne replied. “We’ve known about it but they kept rescheduling so both their families could come.”

“Are you going?” Henry asked, dread settling in his belly. 

“Yep,” Anne said but, thankfully, didn’t invite him along. “I’m going to be their baby’s godmother so I’m afraid I can’t miss.”

“Oh,” Henry replied and raised his glass. “Well, double congratulations then.”

That explained why they’d finally gotten the date set.

“I’ll drink to that,” She replied and did so. 

“Your sister just got married didn’t she?” Anne asked. Henry nodded. 

“It was a small gathering,” Henry told her. Given it was her and her husband’s second wedding, it was bound to be. He still didn’t know what on earth the two of them had been thinking by running off and doing it in some tiny chapel in Paris. 

“Not much of a hassle then?” Anne replied. “Most of Elizabeth’s planning has been done. It’s just getting clothes on backs, flowers in pots and the food on the table.”

She had clearly never had to organize a wedding before but Henry bit his tongue. 

“How long have you known Elizabeth?” He asked. 

“Since we were right out of uni,” She said. “She and her elder brother are the closest things I’ve ever had to siblings.”

“Ned right?” Henry replied. The waiter appeared, carrying her fish and his steaming soup and setting them down in front of them. 

“Thank you,” She said to the man. 

“Thanks,” Henry said. The man had large ears that stuck out from his head more than Ana’s did. 

Or maybe she just had large ears. 

They weren’t properly protruding. 

He wondered how she’d fit in at the Lincoln with her bangs, love of wearing summer clothes in the winter, high ponytails, doc martens, sharp, painted nails and all knowing little smile. He looked around the restaurant and saw the usual group of men and women in suits, celebrating and marketing their deals and the couples celebrating some big anniversary. 

He saw an old man sitting alone and realised he was the old Baron Willoughby. One of Catherine’s friends had married his son. A table away from him was a brown haired woman in a one shoulder dress. He couldn’t see her face but her dress was as black as the upholstery of the seats. 

Henry thought she’d fit in rather well. 

“This is very good,” Anne said. Henry nodded. It was. “What are you having?”

“Venison Bourguignon,” He told her. 

“French?” She asked, seemingly startled.

“Why the look of surprise?” He replied. She’d been there when he’d ordered it, though perhaps he’d just said  _ the venison stew with extra spice _ . 

He probably had. 

“I’ve just known soldiers,” Anne said. “Well,  _ former soldiers _ , who won’t touch anything French.”

That made Henry snort and shake his head. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in a while. 

The image of a scowling, fatigue wearing, dirty soldier coming back from a patrol and refusing to eat the hot, perfectly good and fresh food set in front of him. It made him properly chuckle and then laugh. 

“What?” Anne asked. She had a sweet smile that only got sweeter when she started to laugh alongside him.

“They must’ve starved,” Henry laughed. “All we ate was French food in Calais.”

“Oh,” She replied. “I didn’t know that.”

“They would hire local cooks and buy most of the food off Bretons or Picards,” Henry said. “Or the Burgundians. Whenever their guilds told them they could sell to us. It kept our fleet and planes from getting over exposed doing supply drops across the channel.”

“So you never got biscuits?” Anne asked. “I remember Tesco promised to send a tin for every one you bought.”

“We did.” Henry said, smiling. “I remember that I’d get one from the RLC and then get another in the mail a day later.”

“I’m not enabling your junk food habit,” Marie had said to him. She’d been in a white tank top and pink shorts with her arms crossed under her breasts. Henry had been sitting at the kitchen table, still in a wheelchair and drugged to the gills on any and every non opioid painkiller that his doctors were willing to give him.

In front of him had been chicken soup with carrots and celery.

And no noodles. 

“Not everything that tastes good is junk, Marie,” He’d snapped back. 

“From your sisters?” Anne asked. Henry took a bite and chewed before responding. He tended to speak too quickly and his voice would be shrill when he talked about Marie for the first time with anyone. 

“From my ex,” Henry replied. 

“Oh,” She said. Henry went back to eating. 

“How long were you two together?” Anne asked. 

He’d mentioned he’d been engaged and it had ended the years before, not the specifics. She hadn’t asked at the time. It had been their third date and they’d been heading to her flat. 

It took him a moment to count all the years up. 

From the end of fall in their first year to the start of spring in their fourth and then from just before his second tour until the week before his twenty-seventh birthday. 

“Let’s see,” He said, counting all the dates. 

Ana would know, probably off the top of her head. Except she hadn’t been there for the final three years. 

“.....and how’s your sister doing?” Henry had asked. They were at a little table at a coffee shop Marie had picked. Her fuzzy, bleach blhatt onde curls had grown to shoulder length since he’d last seen her. 

“Alright,” Marie had replied. “I haven’t talked to her in a while but I think she’s moving back to Russia.”

That had turned out to be since she graduated, not  _ a while _ . 

“Six years about?” Henry told Anne. 

“Wow,” She said and sipped her wine. “That’s a long time.”

“We were together for most of our time at Oxford,” He explained with a shrug. “And got back together afterwards.” 

“What happened?” Anna said. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

He minded it very much. 

“We grew apart,” Henry lied. “Our interests started to diverge and we fell out of love.”

She became his caretaker rather than his lover and he’d hated her for it. She’d hated doing it and said it drove her up the wall in the end.

“I feel  _ crazy _ ,” Marie had told him after he’d bailed her out of jail. “I’m losing my  _ fucking mind _ . I don’t trust you; I can’t trust you. My God, Henry, you barely talk to me anymore except when you want someone to scream at. You haven’t told me you love me in months. Some days I think you hate me,”

“Some days I fucking do,” Henry had shouted back. 

“Were you close to the wedding date?” Anne asked. 

“No,” Henry said. 

Marie had her dresses picked out and her venue picked out but was dithering over the menu and the decor and the food and Henry pretended none of it was happening. 

“What about you?” Henry asked. “What happened with your ex boyfriend?”

He went to the bathroom five minutes later and pulled out his phone while he sat on the toilet. He opened his messages and stared down at his last message to Ana. They’d been talking about Marie's marriage.

He’d lied, yet again, about liking having Charlie as a brother-in-law. He did in so many ways but he hated that it put Mary in harm's way if Charlie fell back into bad habits. He knew about the whores just as his friend knew about Jane Poppincourt. 

Henry hadn’t seen her body but he’d seen the file. Her arms had been crushed and the lower half of her body burned but she’d died of the blood in her lungs. 

Knyver, Compton and Ward had died almost immediately but he and Jane had suffered. 

He’d never told Dr. Butts about the affair. 

What could the man say about some sort of divine retribution?

Fuck God. They’d hadn’t deserved what they got. 

_ Question 20,  _ Henry texted Ana.  _ What was it like having your father only live with your and your mother part of the time?  _

She didn’t reply till well after he’d gone home. 

Alone.

_ What do you mean?  _ Ana asked.

_ Did you know about your half siblings? _

_ Yes.  _

_ What was that like? _

_ Knowing my father had a second family? I didn’t get my what it meant til I was older.  _ Ana said.  _ He’d been coming and going since I was born. It was normal to me for most of my childhood. I was never told he was married until the divorce and I didn’t realise what adultery really meant until then.  _

_ What did you see?  _ Henry typed out but then deleted it. 

_ What was it like meeting Marie and George? _

_ That’s 21 questions,  _ Ana replied.

* * *

Ana found out why her townhouse apartment was only 900 pounds-with utilities included-on her first night there. It started with banging coming from beneath the floor at around 21 pm. She wasn’t certain of the exact time as she was smoking a spliff, blowing the smoke out the window and looking at the London skyline. 

_ Hey,  _ Mark had texted her earlier.  _ You wanna listen to this song I wrote? _

Accordingly, Ana had metal music blaring through one headphone and had just thought that the noise was part of a song. Then she heard a scraping sound. She pulled the headphone out and listened for a minute. Someone was moving furniture. 

She didn’t think much of it and led her head loll back into the high backed office chair she’d grabbed out of a trash pile a year ago. It had just needed to have an arm and a wheel screwed back on it.

An easy enough fix, even if she’d had to dig through Harry Percy’s disgusting tool box to find an electronic screwdriver and his bottle of Liquid Nails. 

Who put a half eaten bag of crisps in a tool box and left them to rot?

The molly Ana could understand well enough. 

It had taken her four days to realise the crisps had, in fact, been hers but she didn’t apologise for telling him off. He’d peed on the floor and not bothered to clean it up for the fourth time in 46 hours before she tore into him. 

Then the hammering started. It sounded like someone was building a table or something. 

Ana put both of her headphones in but, later, when she was taking her shoes off to get into bed it started up again. This time it sounded like someone was trying to drill into the floor of her apartment. 

Ana put her shoes back on, walked to the tiny, 1.8 meters hall leading from her front door to the rest of her apartment where it seemed to be originating from and circled around until she found the exact spot. Ana knelt down and banged her fist on the ground until it stopped.

It woke her up again at 2:30 am. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Lincoln's Inn was actually where Thomas More studied law and Ana's shitty neighbor will be revealed soon enough.
> 
> Jane Poppincourt was the mistress of the Duke of Longueville who Louis XII refused her entry to his court, citing her bad réputation. She may have been Henry's mistress bc he gave her 100 pounds in 1516 (?) but, then again, she was his sister's French tutor and he was known to be generous with his servants. 
> 
> The affair was a last minute addition but it serves it's purpose aka Henry's a serial adultérer who's affairs are proper affairs *not* one night stands.


	8. Chapter 8

Ana wore the skirt, the bodysuit, garters and the stockings to work with a baggy black button up tied in a knot around her waist and her B necklace on the 19th. It was a simple square pendant with a glossy black center surrounding the letter B. 

She hadn’t worn it in a while. 

And her Doc Martens. 

It was modest enough with her hair tied up in a half bun and a bomber jacket to go over the all black ensemble. She’d found it at an estate sale for 25 pounds when she was still at Uni. 

Ana had also found a set of pearl earrings at that same and mailed them to her aunt back home in Russia as a wedding present. She’d worn them in all the photos and Ana had spent the week after bouncing around on cloud nine.

It probably would have continued for longer if she hadn’t walked in on her sister making out with a shirtless Henry Tudor on the couch of all places. 

She’d started slamming the front door after that. 

The very same Henry Tudor met her and her coworkers at the Nightcrow as Norris locked up. He made quick friends with the older man, when he saw the AK-47 inked on the inside of his right forearm. 

Mark had done it when he’d graduated from his apprenticeship. 

Ana had been there for 4.35 weeks when it had happened and had bought her soon to be roommate a cupcake. 

“What?” Frances had asked. “None for us?”

“Not your bloody big day,” Ana had laughed. Smeaton had purple frosting smeared on his beard and the very sight put her in a good mood. It had matched his hair at the time. 

“Five long hard years,” Norris had announced, sitting down on Smeaton’s table while disinfecting his arm. 

“How _horrendous_ ,” Mark had snorted. 

“I can still fire you, you know,” Norris had said with a smile. “And I will if you fuck this up.” 

“You finally sick of him?” Will had teased their boss. 

“Or is he sick of you lot?” Ana had replied, leaning against the back wall of the booth. 

“It’ll be your turn to take out the trash now, Boleyn,” Mark had told her as he turned off the machine. “I’ve got seniority over you know.”

“Really?” She had replied. “And here I thought I had, hmmm, three years on you?”

“Oh come off of it,” Francis had scoffed. “You’d never used a single needle before you came here.”

That wasn’t true. The top of her right thigh bore the ink left behind from the first time she’d done it.

“And you couldn’t build a coil machine,” Ana had replied. “Nor had you used flats.”

Everyone had gone a little quiet at that.

“Did you build your coil gun?” Norris had asked conversationally which Ana knew meant he was about to jump onto some point.

“Yes,” She had replied. “I had to build my first one and needles in order to get my apprenticeship.”

“I fought on the Scots border before the treaty was signed,” Norris told Henry.

“What division?” The younger man asked.

“58th,” Norris replied. “What about you? Did you ever serve?”

“Two tours in Calais,” Henry told him and Ana watched his face carefully. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Before they surrendered the Canal.”

“That,” Norris said. “Was the worst piece of business since Warwick tried to put George Plantagenant in Number 10.”

Ana felt her face drain of blood as Henry’s smile faltered. That had been his great uncle, afterall. 

“Not quite,” Henry replied. “Imagine what would have happened if he’d succeeded.”

It had been an era of warlords and slaughter that had driven Ana’s paternal grandparents out of the country when her father was only a baby. He’d gone back to go to Cambridge and graduated just before Bosworth. 

“True,” Norris said. “True.”

When they got to the bar, they were greeted by the sight of Francis Bryan with Jane and Madge on each arm. It was all kisses and introductions and Bloody Marys and Gin ‘n Tonics until Thomas Wyatt showed up alone. 

Ana didn’t know if she wanted to curse or kiss him so she did both.

“I fucking missed you,” She said as she planted one on his cheek. She missed his mouth, the feeling of him inside of her, how he’d beg when he had a gag in his mouth and the bruises he’d put on her arse. 

The latter only happened once every 3 weeks. 

“Missed you too, Ana,” He’d replied and she felt him press something into her palm as they broke apart. She held it in her hands for 2.1 minutes before she put the baggie in her pocket. 

He was an idiot to do that in public but they’d done worse.

Last year he’d nearly gotten them banned from the Mary Rose for going down on her in the toilets while Henry Percy and Brook, Thomas’ girlfriend, sat at the bar, none the wiser. 

It had been _disgusting_.

* * *

“Henry,” He shook Thomas Wyatt’s hand. He’d be the fourth _Thomas_ he’d spoken to that day, having fielded calls from Cromwell and Wolsey and had lunch with More. His old friend was pushing harder than ever to get him into the House of Lords and Henry was starting to cave. 

He wanted another week; another session with Dr. Butts and some time to talk to Charlie and Meg to see what they thought. “Nice to meet you.”

“Always a pleasure to see another rosé man,” Wyatt replied, gesturing to his glass. Henry wondered if he was being insulted. “They’ve got the good stuff here.”

That peaked his memory. He’d known a Wyatt back in university. A friend of Ana’s who’d had a massive pale pink winter coat that she’d sewn patches onto. 

“Yes, they do,” Henry agreed and sipped his glass. “Say, you don’t have a sister do you?”

Very posh of him. Jesus.

“Yeah,” Wyatt replied. “Molly.”

“She didn’t go to Oxford with Ana did she?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “We both did. She studied physics and I studied English. Why?”

“I think I remember her from a few of Ana’s study groups,” Henry said. Wyatt looked him up and down as if sizing him up. He was better dressed than the other man, taller and probably as good looking, depending on who you asked.

It still made Henry’s stomach twist. 

“You’re the sister’s ex aren’t you?” Thomas asked.

_The sister._

“Yeah,” Henry replied. He didn’t know how he’d expected the other man to recognise him but it hadn’t been that. 

_The sister._

Her name was Marie and he didn’t know what to say. It was so casual, as if she was some bug or dog that he didn’t feel he could get mad.

He wondered if Wyatt had ever called her that in front of Ana.

“That’s me. Not sure how we haven’t met yet but…..”

“Eh,” Wyatt shrugged. “I was never over at the flat.”

“Not interested in parties?” Henry asked.

“Not interested in science,” Wyatt replied. “I’m in a writing program for grad school.”

“Cool,” Henry said, realising he meant a _creative writing program._ “Do you do fiction, nonfiction or poetry?”

“Are they both not the same?” Ana asked, appearing at Wyatt’s elbow with a soft smile on her face. 

“Oh you wound me,” Thomas replied, smiling at Ana with a look Henry could recognize. “Every has a bit of truth and every truth has a bit of a lie so nothing is fiction but nothing is real, love.”

That made Henry purse his lips. 

“What do you think of that, Henry?” The black haired woman replied.

* * *

The group left the bar before last call when Norris announced he had to get home, just after Will’s girlfriend had arrived. It was 22:15 pm. Ana had shot off a battery of texts to Madge’s sister Mariline to see if she was still coming.

She replied that she’d seen them at midnight. 

That girl started late. 

A benefit of being 19, Ana supposed. 

Thomas swung his arm around her shoulders as they walked. Henry was in front of them and Ana had been busy looking at arse before he’d distracted her so he made her jump. 

“How’ve you been princess?” He asked. 

“Good,” Ana replied. “Better than I have been in a while.”

In front of Ana, Henry laughed and sped up to walk alongside Francis and Jane. The black haired man had put his coat around Jane’s shoulders but he was going back and forth between her and Madge in conversation, constantly. 

An average of 3.5 times every ten minutes, favoring the blonde over the brunette.

“I’m getting a book published,” Thomas told her. 

“Congratulations,” She replied. It had been a long time coming. He’d had an agent for the past 13.8 months. 

“Whoso List to Hunt,” Thomas continued. “I’ll send you the first copy.”

“Keep it for yourself,” Ana replied, wrinkling her nose at him. “Give me the second.”

Thomas laughed and shook his head, pulling her closer. 

“But if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t even ever have dreamt of my verses,” Thomas said. “Every poet ought to reward his muse.”

“Would paying me make me a prostitute?” Ana giggled much too loudly. She saw Henry glance over his shoulder at them out of the corner of her eye.

_Fuck._

“No,” Thomas laughed. “It would make you a fickle, greedy mistress with a heart as dark as her hair.”

“Please don’t tell me that’s a line in one of your poems,” Ana scoffed. 

“I’ll be writing it down when I return to my abode,” He replied. “Or tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t forget it,” Ana said.

“You’ll have to remind me,” Thomas said.

“I’ll text you,” Ana told him. There was a beat of silence. 

“I haven’t seen you at the club in a while,” Thomas said conversationally. She hadn’t been in a while. 

“I’ve been busy,” Ana told him and raised an eyebrow. “I also haven’t had a _reason_ to.”

Thomas didn’t even have the decency to look uncomfortable. 

Then again, they’d been friends with benefits for 4.9 years, only a few months less than he’d been with Brook. 2.1 years before she’d even started dating Percy. 

There was nothing to be uncomfortable about anymore.

“Come on Sunday, princess,” Thomas replied. It sounded like an order. 

It was an order. 

“And here I thought you were more subtle than that?” Ana hissed.

“I am only tongue tied when faced with you,” He replied and dropped his hand so it was around her waist. Ana flicked it with one sharp nail, making him flinch and let her go. 

She swayed her hips as she walked ahead, coming up beside Henry and Jane, who was laughing at something the red haired man had said. 

Ana found that mildly infuriating though she didn’t like to think of why. 

She knew it well enough, though. Had known it since the first time she’d _seen_ Jane. Her former roommate looked like Marie. They had the same curve of their jaw and similar noses though Jane’s was longer and sharper. They had the same big, dark eyes except Marie’s were slightly larger as were her plump lips. 

They had the same thin frames though Jane was likely bonier. 

They had the same pale hair, almost down to the length and wild curls. Jane kept her hair tamed with straighteners and dry conditioners while Marie’s was worn natural. 

Ana walked up to them and slotted herself next to Henry, using him as a wall between her, Jane and Bryan. 

“Having fun?” Ana inquired. Her voice was just soft enough to disguise the sharpness behind the statement. 

“Mmmhmm,” Jane replied. “Your friends aren’t what I expected.”

“How so?” Ana asked. Jane shrugged and smiled lazily. Ana thought she might have taken something or had something put in her drink.

“You alright?” Ana asked, cutting Jane off when she opened her mouth. She perked up and nodded. 

“You sure?” Henry asked. He wasn’t close to her but as they walked his body leaned closer to Ana. 

“I’m just happy,” Jane laughed. “Pastime in good company like Tom says.”

Ana knew that saying-that line-and she knew where it had come from. She looked quickly at Henry to see him smiling and nodding at Jane. 

He’d said it during his second and her first year of uni. It had been before a party and he’d been on their couch, eating chips and a burger and drinking with his bare feet on one of the arms. Ana remembered she’d kept her mouth shut but had told Marie off the next morning for letting him do it. Her sister had been in the kitchen, whipping up something vegetarian. 

He and Marie had been shouting back and forth about Shakespeare while Ana sat between them at the kitchen table, trying to study. 

“It’s just pastime in good company,” Henry had yelled. “Amongst the fae. Look at Puck. Would you not dally with him, my lady?”

“Such a trickster has no place in my affections,” Mary had yelled back.

“Shut the _ever loving fuck_ up,” Ana had muttered to herself. When her mother had asked her about her swearing, Ana had always reminded her that she learned English due to her unrestricted access to Netflix. 

Ana looked back at Thomas who had a cigarette hanging from his mouth and was pulling a lighter out of his pocket.

She’d quoted what Henry had said to Thomas 15.7 months later.

* * *

Henry ended up drinking beer with Francis Bryan and Jane, hanging onto the bar while the rest of the party danced or meandered around, socializing. It wasn’t, well, his scene nor did it seem to be Jane’s. 

“Right, Henry,” Francis said. “It’s your round.”

Henry waved down the bartender and ordered. There was a beat of silence in which Jane was smiling at Francis with shining eyes and Henry felt like he was out with Mary and Charles.

Third-wheeling sucked.

They downed the shot’s and Jane ordered tequila. 

He remembered having to do it for Arthur and Catherine and Knyvert and Compton, though the latter two had been more subtle. He also hadn’t been in love with either of them. 

“How do you two know Ana?” Henry asked. 

“She tattooed everything I’ve got on me,” Francis said. 

“How long did that take?” Henry asked.

“It’s been about four years,” He replied. That surprised Henry. Ana had been in London a year.

“Did you know her at Oxford?” Henry asked.

“She went to Oxford?” Francis said. He looked like he’d been smacked. 

“Yep,” Henry replied. “Graduated when she was sixteen too.”

“Is that where you met her?” Jane asked. She was like a cheery little, lush, puppy, hanging on Francis Bryan.

_The sister’s ex._

“Yes,” He said. “I was a year ahead of her.” 

Nobody invited someone who was just _the sister’s ex_ out for drinks.

“Evenin’,” Mark said as he trotted up. He put himself between Jane and Henry. “What’s with your face Bryan?”

“Ana never told me she went to Oxford,” Francis replied. 

“Do you really think she’d be working for Norris if she wasn’t a genius?” Mark scoffed. 

“What’d you mean?” Jane asked. 

“He’s famous,” Mark said. “For the kind of tattoos he does.”

Henry should have done his research better.

“Really?” Henry asked.

“Yeah,” Mark replied. “He’s been doing it for twenty years. The man can literally turn away a dozen people a week.”

“Is that the mark of tattoo success?” Jane giggled. 

“Yep,” Mark replied. The bartender came over and the long haired man asked for water.

“Getting late for you already, man?” Bryan asked. 

“Yeah,” He said. “I don’t wanna fall on my arse before one am.”

“How old are you?” Henry asked. He could guess that the man was close to his age, maybe older.

“Twenty-five,” Mark replied. “What about you?”

“Twenty-eight,” Henry said. 

“Wow,” Jane said. “You look young. I thought you were my age!”

“She’s twenty-three,” Bryan supplied. 

“I’m going to dance,” Mark said and trotted off with his water. 

“How do you know Ana?” Henry asked Jane. 

“I’m her roommate,” Jane replied and properly smiled at him. It was the same way she’d been smiling at Frances all evening. She was beautiful enough to rival even Catherine. 

“So you didn’t come together?” Henry asked. It was a fair enough question, after all their companionship didn’t make sense otherwise. 

He needed to stop drinking.

“Oh no,” Jane slurred. “We did. We met at church actually and it was just a coincidence that we both know her.”

“I’ve got plenty of sins to pay for,” Frances chuckled awkwardly and Jane elbowed him playfully. 

“No you haven’t, baby,” She replied. Henry was torn between feeling nauseous at how sickly sweet it was and jealous of how Francis had Jane’s attention. 

The bartender came over and Jane ordered two shots and a cup of water for Henry. He sipped it while the happy couple downed their alcohol. It took Jane two mouthfuls to get it all down. 

Francis pounded it and then ate both of their limes. He grinned toothily at Henry, reminding him of Ana when was self satisfied. 

“How’d you lose your eye?” Henry asked. 

“Italy,” He replied and Henry nodded in understanding. “I was a mercenary.”

“He got to hear the Pope say mass,” Jane giggled Henry and Frances looked down at his drink, clearly embarrassed. 

That jogged Henry’s memory. Ana had said a one eyed man had told her that tattooing over scars felt like cigarette burns. Even a decade later, the news would occasionally feature stories from former prisoners of war or from people who’d known Cesare Borgia or both. 

He wanted to ask what had happened to the man but with Jane there he thought better.

“Must have been an honor,” Henry commented, then he looked at Jane. “Where did you say you went to church?”

_Look Dr. Butts, he could have a conversation with a woman he liked without feeling entitled to hop in her bed._

* * *

Ana grabbed Madge when the blonde girl was in line for the lou. She cupped her hands around her ear but still had to shout to be heard. Some idiot had put a speaker right where the line to the bathrooms tended to begin. 

It’d been like that since Ana had started going to the Sacrett. 

“Madge!” She hollered. “Keep an eye on Jane til we leave, ok?”

“Keep an eye on Jane?” Madge asked. Ana nodded her head up and down quickly. 

“Mark and her are going home together,” Ana yelled. Bryan might very well be planning on joining them. “I’ll probably go with them too.”

Her new stop was on the same route she’d taken to work every day and her flat was two blocks away. At this time of night she fully planned on running from the station to her building but she would have company for most of the journey. 

Madge gave Ana a thumbs up and the younger woman moved on. 

Mark was dancing with Will’s girlfriend, shouting in time with the music. Ana was grateful Somerset wasn’t drunk enough to try and mosh before they got to the Mermaid. 

She wondered what Henry and Jane would make of that club. 

Ana danced up to Mark and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Watch Jane,” She shouted. “She’s drunk as fuck.”

Mark promptly looked around and clearly saw her. He bent down and shouted in return.

“She’s getting even worse but Francis has her,” Mark yelled. Ana raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

Bryan was certainly not her boyfriend. 

“You know I won’t let her go off alone,” He replied. She nodded and let him grab her by the waist as they swayed together. 

Ana bit her lips, fluttered her eyes and shook her tits at him just to see him laugh before she trotted off to find Jane herself. She saw Thomas talking with Will and Francis Weston at one far corner of the bar but not Jane, Henry and Bryan. 

It took her 2.45 minutes but she did spot them, sat at the bar right by the door. 

Oh, they were as uncomfortable as fuck. 

Ana found it mildly amusing and grinned as she trotted over. 

Jane was leaned over so her mouth was just by his ear, whispering something while Bryan smiled at the two of them. 

At the very least, Henry wouldn’t be taking Jane home.

That made her feel better. 

“How does it feel?” Henry asked. “Being able to legally drive?”

“I’ve still got to take my test,” Ana replied and then she poked her head around Bryan. “Hey! Francis, how long did it take to get your license?”

“Twice,” He responded. “Before I lost my eye.”

She looked back at Henry with a grin. 

“And you?” 

“One,” Henry replied. 

Ana had known that. 

“I’ve never taken it,” Jane said, knowing what Ana was going to ask next. “I don’t think I’d ever pass.” 

“Why not?” Henry asked. 

The blonde shrugged and waved her hand at the bartender. Ana wondered if they knew how rude that really was. 

Or maybe it was only her that thought it rude. 

Alcohol was one of the only things Ana had the patience to wait for. 

That and how long it took to tattoo people. 

She yawned, cracked her neck and looked down at Henry at Henry’s legs in his tight slacks. She could see the tattoo and scars on his leg as clearly as if they were in front of her.

Ana’s gaze flicked to his crotch and she quickly looked away. 

Henry was looking at her with an odd expression and she felt like a pervert.

“Don’t wear those tomorrow,” Ana said. “They’ll rub the tattoo.”

“I know,” Henry replied and Ana felt her face turn pink. 

She looked away and yanked her hair out of it’s half bun, tying it back into a low ponytail. 

“Your hair looks good like that,” Henry said. 

“Thanks,” Ana replied. His hair looked good however he wore it.

When the bartender came over Ana asked for water. 

“Are you lot having fun?” She asked as she drank it. Jane and Henry were still talking but she was firmly snuggled into Francis’ side with one of his arms wrapped around her. 

“Yes,” Jane nodded. “I’m glad you invited me.”

The light above their head changed from red to white and the lean, sharp lines of Jane’s face that helped distinguish her from Marie softened. When Ana looked at Henry she found him looking right back at her, his body leaning subtly toward hers. 

“The DJ’s good,” Bryan said. 

“He typically signs off at midnight,” Ana replied.

Jane pulled out her phone. 

“It’s 11:46,” Ana said. She took a sip of her water. 

“Your watch is broken,” Henry commented. Ana looked at it and then looked at Henry’s wrist. 

“She’d right,” Jane said. 

“Where’s your watch?” Ana asked the ginger. 

“I don’t wear one when I go out,” Henry explained. “It’s asking for trouble.”

He probably didn’t own one that was less than a few thousand dollars. 

“Why?” Bryan asked. Jane kissed him on the cheek and muttered something about the bathroom. 

“I don’t want to break one,” Henry said. “I’m clumsy when I’m drunk.”

No he wasn’t. 

Ana wrinkled her nose at him and then raised an eyebrow. 

“You never feel over in uni,” Ana replied. 

“Have you two kept in touch then?” Francis asked. Henry seemed to shift closer to her and reciprocated the movement so that they were nearly touching. 

“Nah,” Ana said. “I just get to ink him..”

“A scar coverup?” Bryan asked. Henry nodded and finished his water. 

“Want another round?” The one eyed man asked. “This one’s on me.”

“No,” Henry replied. “I’m about done for the night.”

“I’m holding off for the Mermaid’s flaming shots,” Ana said. 

“Flaming shots?” Henry asked. 

“What?” Ana snickered. “Never had one?”

“No,” Henry said. “I’ve never been somewhere they’re served.”

“First round’s on me,” Ana replied. “We can’t let that continue another day.”

“What continue?” Henry asked. “The lack of fire in my mouth?”

“You use a straw,” Ana said and leaned even closer. She knew the angle let him see down her button up to where the bodysuit’s bra was perfectly molded to her bosom but the thick ornamental straps that went from the top of the bra straps to the center of her breast hid the best part of her cleavage. “They’ve got a marvelous one with a cherry in it called the Red Flash.”

Cherry. _Heh._

“Is that what you normally drink?” Henry replied. His eyes didn’t go past her chin. She smiled, crooked and sharp and watched as a blush krept up his throat. 

“I like the three spicy ones,” Ana snorted.

“Well then,” He replied. “I’ll have to try one of those first.”

“You think our tastes are so….compatible?” Ana asked.

“Yes,” Henry replied. 

“How so?” Ana said. She did have rather good taste but she couldn’t help but remember that he’d used to eat pop tarts by the box and Ben and Jerry’s during the spring. 

“We’ve both got excellent taste in clothes….”

“How very humble of you…”

“...and you’re a music snob…”

“No, I am not!”

“...and, somehow, a good enough artist to work with a _legend_ …”

“Ok, yeah….”

“...and I’m paying you to put a piece of _permanent_ art on my body…”

“And you’re picky as….”

“So, _yes_ ,” Henry replied. “We’re _extremely_ compatible.” 

“Really?” Thomas Wyatt said as he came up behind Ana. She looked over her shoulder and glared at him. He shrugged. 

“I could see it,” The blonde man corrected himself.  
  


  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Henry and Ana ended up waiting outside for the rest of the group before they headed to the Mermaid. Ana was vaping, blowing smoke out of her nose and looking at her shoes. She’d let her hair loose and had probably combed it in the bathroom before they’d gone outside.

“Do you want a hit?” Ana asked him. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and looked up at him with those big, blue eyes.

“Yeah,” Henry said. He took it from her and puffed. Then he looked up at the light polluted sky.

“You know,” He said. “Where I grew up-at our country house-we could count the stars. It wasn’t like we were in a desert or the wilderness somewhere but I remember getting to sit on the roof during the summer and watching how the constellations moved as time passed.”

“That sounds,” Ana paused as if choosing her words carefully. “ _ Fun. _ ”

“That’s what you’re going with?” Henry asked. 

“Peaceful,” Ana amended.

“It wasn’t always,” Henry replied and took another hit. “Megan and I used to get into pinching fights.”

“I’m glad I didn’t grow up in your household,” Ana said. He handed the vape back to her. 

“How’d you end up as a smoker anyways?” Henry asked. 

“Third year happened,” Ana replied. “I’ve tried to quit once but didn’t really try hard enough.”

“You didn’t smoke during third year,” Henry said, horrified. He would have smelled it on her if she had. His father had always tried to hide his habit but had never found anything that completely covered up the scent. 

“It was after you were gone,” Ana replied. 

“Your sister never mentioned that,” Henry said without thinking.

_ The sister’s ex _ .

“Can we not talk about Marie?” Ana grimaced as she vaped. 

“Sorry,” Henry replied.

_ The sister’s ex.  _

He supposed the fact that it bothered him was a hint that he wanted to be important to Ana. 

“You’re fine,” Ana said. 

They stood in silence for a few minutes and Henry started to fidget. 

“What’s taking them so long?” He asked.

“Lines for the women’s loo,” She said. “And Thomas probably has the guys doing lines in the men’s.”

“What?” Henry replied despite having heard her clearly. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“Offended they didn’t invite you?” Ana asked with that vicious grin and put her vape in her jacket pocket. 

_ Good boy.  _

Henry felt himself start to blush.

“I offered to come outside with you,” He replied. 

“Well, next time you’ll know better,” Ana said. 

“Who says there will be a next time?” Henry asked. The look he got in response made his throat close up. Her eyes got huge and worried and her thin little mouth went tight.

“I was going to invite you out again,” Ana replied. “But if you don’t want to come it’s not a problem.”

“No,” Henry said, shaking his head. “I’d definitely like to. It reminds me of uni a bit.”

“Reliving your glory days with the kids?” Ana replied, clearly laughing at him.

“ _ Funny _ ,” Henry said. “Given your the youngest here.”   
“Second,” Ana corrected him. “Mariline’s nineteen.”

“My point still stands,” Henry said. 

“And, pray tell, what is that point?” Ana asked.

“Pray tell?” Henry replied. “I see that Oxford degree is useful for something.”

“I speak five languages and read six,” Ana said. “But your point?”

“I thought you only spoke three?” Henry replied. She shook her head back and forth.

“I grew up speaking Chechen, Russian and French,” Ana said. “And I learned Chinese and English in school. I taught myself to read Spanish after I graduated.”

“For fun?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Ana replied, testily. “Now your point?”

“You,” He said. “As far as I can tell, spend most of your time around people significantly older than you.”

“Norris and Will are my coworkers,” Ana said. “And what does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t,” Henry replied. Ana sighed and shifted her weight on her feet. 

Her skirt was tight on her thighs and ass and Henry couldn’t help but look. He glanced at her face and saw her raising one of those eyebrows, again.

As if she hadn’t been looking at his crotch,  _ for fuck’s sake _ .

“Sorry,” She said. 

“Do people treat you differently because, you know….?”

“Yes,” Ana replied. “How long have you known me?”

“Fair point,” Henry said. 

“People are the weirdest when I’m on a date,” Ana continued. 

“Why?” Henry asked. Ana snorted and smiled.

“You think I’m going to go out with someone who’s still in uni?” Ana replied. Henry had not even considered that she  _ wouldn’t _ date people outside of their early twenties, frankly. 

He hadn’t even really thought about her dating anyone for that matter.

As if she was some Madonna painted up on the wall of the church. Except, well, she had her legs and her ass and her smirk and her big eyes. 

_ Good boy. _

He wondered what she thought of him. 

_ The sister’s ex. _

“No,” Henry said. “I can’t really imagine you would.”

Ana hummed, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall of the building. 

“How young have you dated?” She asked. 

Oh,  _ God. _

Henry tried not to rock on the balls of his feet or laugh or shake his head. 

“Is that question twenty?” He asked.

“Yes,” Ana replied. Henry thought about it for a minute. 

“Age gap? Or the youngest age?” Henry clarified.

“Both,” Ana said. 

“Four years….”

Jane Poppincourt.

“And eighteen.”

_ Bessie. _

He wondered how she was. Her and her husband popped up on Facebook feed occasionally. 

“Hmmm,” Ana said. “What do you think of twenty questions?”

“Wanna play another round?” Henry asked. She nodded. 

“Are you normally a talkative drunk?” He asked.

“I’m talkative when I’m hungry,” Ana replied. 

“I’m sorry,” Henry said and wondered if he should find a restaurant and buy her food. 

“Do you own jeans?” Ana asked. 

“Yes,” Henry replied. “Two pairs.”

She nodded and pursed her lips down. It made her chin look more pointed.

“Why are you wearing a shirt over your dress?” Henry asked.

“I’m not wearing a dress,” Ana replied with a smile and a tilt of her head.

“Then what are you wearing?” Henry said as he pulled out his phone. They’d been standing outside for ten minutes.

“Is that your third question?” Ana asked. 

“Yes,” Henry replied. 

“Underwear,” Ana shrugged. Henry felt his cheeks heat up and knew his face was as red as his hair. 

“I shouldn’t have asked that,” Henry replied. “I’m sorry.

Ana laughed and shook her head. Her pretty, nearly hip length hair swished around her body. 

“Boxers or briefs?” Ana asked. 

“What I’m wearing now or what I prefer?” Henry said, looking at her with raised eyebrows. She looked almost unbelievably beautiful standing just outside of the ring of light from the street lamp above them. 

A group of four women passed by before Ana could reply. 

“Both,” She replied. “And count them as my two and three.”

“Briefs,” Henry said, scratching his nose. “And I don’t even think I own boxers to be honest.”

Ana’s eyes suddenly looked far away and she shrugged. 

“What?” Henry asked. 

“What?” Ana replied. 

“What were you just thinking about?” Henry laughed. 

“Do you still wash your whites with your blacks?” Ana asked. She looked smug, though he couldn’t imagine why. 

“I…” Henry thought about it for a moment. “No, I don’t think I do anymore.”

“Good for you,” Ana replied. 

“How do you even remember that?” Henry asked. Ana shrugged again.

“It drove me nuts when you’d do your things at the flat,” Ana told him.

_ The sister’s ex.  _

He needed to talk to Butts about that. It shouldn't linger but it did, even with her smiling at him like she wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world.

“You never said anything,” Henry replied.

“It wasn’t my problem,” Ana said. That made Henry snort. She had never seemed to say anything when she had a problem. She only ever did  _ things _ to solve it, regardless of how effective they were. 

“How much of a problem was I back then?” Henry asked. 

He,  _ a twenty-eight year old man, _ asked. 

He felt like he was still a kid, standing by the door and seeing Catherine walk in with an unhappy look on her face and thinking, hoping beyond hope that she had told Arthur  _ no _ before he saw the ring on her finger. 

He was also sure he was still somewhat drunk.

“You were a constant,” Ana replied, carefully. “Until you weren’t.”

“What does that mean?” Henry asked. Ana cocked her head to the side, clearly mulling over his question. He wondered if he ought to ask if speaking in riddles was normal for her when she was drunk.

He remembered her as a giggly, spazzy, angry drunk teenager but people’s tolerance changed as they aged. She had seemed normal all night. 

Or not as trashed as they’d both get at uni. 

“I missed you,” Ana said. “After you left.”

Henry was told to pack the things he’d brought over and get out but she clearly, clearly didn’t want to talk about Marie.

“I missed you too,” Henry replied. “Even though you were an asshole.”

“I am still an asshole,” Ana snorted and smiled. She rolled her shoulders back so her blouse was pulled tight across her breasts for a moment. 

_ Good boy.  _

Or bad.

In all honesty, she could call him whatever he pleased. 

Henry was starting to think that flaming shots were a bad idea but, then again, his brain tended to turn a little dirty when he was tired. 

“Less of one, in my opinion,” Henry said. “And Mark and Jane like you well enough.”

“They hated that I made them wear shoes in the flat,” Ana replied with a shrug. 

“I didn’t actually mind that much,” Henry said. “It kept my feet from getting cold on the floor.”

“I remember you owning socks,” Ana said. Henry grinned at her. 

“I remember losing socks on a weekly basis,” Henry replied. 

He heard Ana’s phone ping and she pulled it out of her pocket, checking a text.

“They’ll be out in five,” She told him. “Or at least the guys will.”

“The fact that doing lines takes less time than fixing makeup never fails to surprise me,” Henry said.

“Why?” Ana replied sharply. “When have you had to compare the two?”

Henry leaned back against the wall and tucked his cold hands into his pockets. She was smarter than him, he’d known that since he met her when her brain wasn’t even fully developed.

Hell, she’d probably been smarter than him when she was a toddler and he was heading into pre-adolescence. 

She’d out argue him any day but he didn’t feel like apologizing. 

“Doing coke is actually pretty quick,” Henry said. “Makeup can be like art, though. It takes a while to get it right.”

Ana gave him a funny look and then smirked. 

“Sometimes it even takes longer than a tattoo,” Ana replied. Henry smiled at her and then looked out at the rode in front of them. 

“Not a good one,” Henry said. Ana shrugged and pulled her vape back out. She took a long hit and blew it out through her nose. He’d seen cigarettes in Wyatt’s back pocket but not coke. 

“Are you and Thomas together?” Henry asked. 

“Wyatt?” Ana replied. “No. Why?”

“ _ Princess _ ,” Henry replied. She pursed her lips and he wondered if he’d gone too far. 

“Some of your friends used to call you  _ your highness _ ,” Ana said and took a side step closer to him. 

“That doesn’t exactly have the same connotations,” Henry scoffed. His face was red yet again. 

“No it doesn’t,” Ana said softly. “We’ve slept together a few times but nothing beyond that.”

“Ah,” Henry replied. Then she took another hit and offered the vape pen to him. He took it but didn’t put it in his mouth right away.

“I never thought you’d be, you know….”

“I switch.”

“Ah,” Henry said and took a hit. 

“Surprised?” She asked.

“Sort of,” Henry replied. 

“You sub don’t you?” Ana asked. Henry did not spit her vape pen out but it was a close thing.

“I switch,” Henry said. “But, yes, I do, primarily whenever I’m doing, well, anything less than upstanding.”

She grinned and took the pen back from him. It made him smile in return, even if he was mildly uncomfortable.

Why hadn’t he thought  _ that _ question would lead to a conversation? 

“So you have a lot of sex standing up?” Ana asked, face nearly splitting open as her smile broadened.

“For God’s sake,” Henry burst out laughing. Ana took a few more puffs of her pen. He shook his head and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Then he looked at her with a knit brow.

“Why do you think I, well, bottom?” He asked. “I mean, I prefer to most of the time but still. How’d you figure it out?”

“I didn’t,” Ana replied. “I guessed but, in hindsight, it makes sense.”

“How?” Henry asked

“I suppose I liked to imagine you’re sub,” Ana shrugged. She was watching him intently. “Why did you think I only top?”

“I suppose I liked to think you were one,” Henry replied.

“Why?” Ana asked. 

_ Because he wanted to fuck her.  _

That was a simple answer to a very complicated question.

“You tell me first,” He said, feeling like an arse.

“I have a hunch it’s the same reason as yours,” Ana replied. “But, in case I’m wrong; I like you as a person and I think you’re handsome. Do the math.”

“That’s more your field,” Henry said. 

“Not any more,” Ana replied. Henry shifted closer to her and she peered up at him, warily. He realised she wasn’t going to push them into whatever abyss they were on the edge of.

All Henry knew was that it didn’t have handrails. 

“They’re over here!” Henry heard someone yell. Wyatt, the Shelton sisters, Jane, Francis Bryan and Francis Weston trooped over, waving goodbye to Will and his girlfriend. 

He could all but see Ana sigh. 

“So you had me pegged from the start?” Henry asked. Ana’s eyebrow shot up her forehead and she smirked. 

_ Good boy. _

“No,” Ana replied. “You can’t ever really know with people.”

Henry took that as a yes.

The group stumbled over to them. 

“Right,” Mariline said. “What’s the fastest way to this new place?”

* * *

Ana could feel Thomas’ eyes burning into her back as she walked with Henry. He seemed tense and she half wondered if she’d lost a client but she knew how his face would twitch when he was mad or how he’d purse his lips when he was uncomfortable. He looked like he was waiting for something to happen, something to crack or some shoe to drop. 

Jane was in front of them, laughing wildly and Ana was pretty sure she’d need to be taken home soon. 

After flaming shots, of course.

It surprised Ana how few of her friends had had them.

Well, not  _ friends _ . Jane occupied the space of a person just passing through Ana’s life. Mariline was at uni, a place where setting alcohol on fire was an extremely dangerous idea and Madge’s sister. 

Perhaps in time they would be friends. 

Henry, on the other hand, was standing next to her with a blush still on his neck or so Ana would’ve liked to think if she didn’t know it was the cold.

She could count the times she’d made his throat or his cheeks turn pink. She knew the exact number of micrometers his pupils dilated each time she did something that could be in a category of things he liked in bed.

_ Good boy.  _

The thought made her smile and hum with self satisfaction. She liked the idea that he wanted her or she would’ve if she wasn’t well aware those reactions could’ve been automatic rather than based on attraction to her. 

When she glanced at Henry she saw him looking at her out of the corner of his eye and he smiled. It reached his eyes. 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever drunk?” She asked.    
“Alcohol or….?” 

“Alcohol.”

“A Bloody Mary,” He replied. “Or a beer that was left open for a month at room temperature.”

“Wait,” Ana said. “Was that during third year?”

“I don’t remember,” Henry said. “I’m pretty sure it was before that.”

Ana rummaged through her memories. She’d gone to Berlin during her second year for the holidays, a journey that required more travel time than Marie’s trip to Norwich. Ana had gotten back the night before classes started to find Henry with his head in the toilet and a bottle of beer in the sink. 

One Will Compton had been on the couch with Werburga, one of the disk and shot put throwers on the track team. 

Even if Ana had a normal memory; even if she’d forgotten everything else about Werburga she would have remembered her name. 

“Your third,” Ana said. “I think.”

“Probably,’” Henry replied. 

“These shots won’t be grosser than that,” Ana assured him. 

“If they’re gross then why do you drink them?” He inquired. 

“They are not,” Ana sniffed. “I am a snob afterall?”

“No you aren’t,” Madge piped up from just ahead of them. 

“It’s a joke,” Ana grinned broadly as she spoke. Then she put her hand on Henry’s elbow.

“Madge works at an art gallery,” Ana told him. “So she’d seen some proper, noble snobs.” 

“Which one?” Henry asked the blonde.

“Holbein and Cleves,” Madge told him. “On Piccadilly.”

“As in  _ Hans Holbein _ ?” Henry asked. “And his wife?”

“Oh, yes,” Madge told him. “I’ve only met him twice but she comes to town every time we have a new show.”

“When’s the next one?” Henry asked. Ana took her hand off his arm and he looked at her with eyes she’d describe as half sad. Then he reached out and wound his arm into hers. 

Oh, yes,  _ yes _ . 

“Early June,” Madge told him. 

Behind her Thomas Wyatt cleared his throat. Ana ignored him. He was an adult, he knew how to behave himself. She’d wanted to fuck him- _ of course she had _ -tonight but she’d rather have Henry. 

Even if they simply went back to her flat and slept, she’d rather have Henry tonight.

* * *

Ana, true to her word, bought the first round of flaming shots. It was vodka, with a cherry, green food dye and God knows what else. Henry sucked it down through the green straw and almost sneezed. It was as strong as any other shot he’d had but it tasted sharp. 

Thomas Wyatt was downing his second when Ana tugged on his arm gently and led him away from the bar to stand by the railing by the stairs. It let Henry look out over the club. 

“How’d you like it?” Ana asked, tucked into his side.

“It was….interesting,” Henry replied.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Ana said. 

“Do you just like that because it’s green?” Henry teased. 

“Yes,” She replied, looking up at him from beneath her bangs. “I like most green things.”

Henry couldn’t really help himself. The thought was in his head one second and on his tongue the next.

“But not green clothes,” He said. 

“You’ve seen me in green,” Ana replied. 

“Oh, please,” He scoffed. “That Brandy Melville dress was more brown than green.”

“That’s what you remember?” Ana asked. 

“Sorry,” Henry replied. “That was inappropriate.”

“No it wasn’t,” Ana said gently. “Not to me. Not right now.”

Henry swallowed and looked out over the club. He could see the fluid, dilating, mass of bodies swaying and crashing on the mosh pit and people shuffling to and from the bars.

“Then what would be an inappropriate question?” Henry asked. “Wait, no. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

Ana laughed, tilting her head up and opening her mouth wide. 

“You’re much more charming when you’re flustered,” She told him.

He was also  _ twenty fucking eight _ and should know much, much better.

“Thanks?” Henry replied. 

“You’re welcome,” She said and shrugged. “That was question ten by the way.”

“I wasn’t aware we were still playing,” Henry said. The two Francis-es came up on the other side of Ana.

“Hey!” Weston yelled. “We’re heading home.”

“With Jane and Mark?” Ana asked.

“No,” He said. “They’re going together.”

“Okay,” Ana replied. “What time are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Ten,” He said. “What about you?”

“Eight,” Ana said. Henry pulled out his phone and saw he had a text from Charlie. 

_ Why didn’t you tell me Mary wanted a baby??????? _

_ I thought you KNEW?  _ Henry replied. They’re communication problems were not  _ his _ at the moment.

“What time is it now?” Weston asked. Henry’s phone pinged as Ana looked at her watch.

_ Ignore Charlie,  _ Mary’s text said.  _ He’s very, very drunk. _

“Two-fifteen,” She told Weston. 

“Make sure you’re on time,” Weston replied.

“Well,” Ana said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Given the appointment is with this guy I think I’m alright.”

Weston laughed and gave her a hug. He held on for a little too long for Henry’s taste but, then again, it wasn’t any of his business. 

His phone buzzed and he opened Mary’s text to see a video of Charlie crying on her lap.

“You’re just so pretty,” He slurred. “I love you so much. Why are you even real?”

Henry had to chuckle and shake his head. 

Ana kissed Weston on the cheek, showing herself to be very French. Then she pulled out her phone. 

“It was nice to see you outside of the shop,” Weston said and extended his hand. Henry took it and gave him a firm shake.

“We should do it again sometime,” Henry replied. 

“Are you going home too, Henry?” Ana asked as she typed away on her phone. She said goodbye to Weston as he walked off.

“Are you?” Henry replied. She cocked her head to the side before shrugging and getting back to texting. 

Then she looked up at him again and smiled slowly and syrupy. 

“I think I’ll go pick up food,” Ana said as she typed. “Let me ask...Mark...about...uh...how she’s doing.”

“Got a lot you can do in six hours?” Henry asked. 

“I can get by on four hours of sleep,” Ana replied, stepping back into his personal space. “But, yes, I can get a lot done in two hours.”

“Efficient,” Henry commented. Her body was pressed into his side and if he cared to look he could’ve read what she was typing on her phone.

“That’s not always a good thing,” Ana said.

“True,” Henry replied. She was looking up at him with her big, big eyes and cocked her head.

“Some things deserve to be drawn out, no?” Ana asked. They were back up at the line they’d been straddling a half an hour ago.

“What do you think we could do in two hours tonight?” Henry replied. 

“You mean what could I do with you?” Ana asked. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Henry replied.   


  
  



	10. CHP 9

They didn’t make out properly the second they got on the Tube to her flat but she held his hand in both of hers. She was nearly on his lap and had her mouth pressed to his ear. 

“What do you like?” Ana asked. She needed to tie her hair back into a ponytail or a bun and she should’ve unpacked her moving boxes. 

Her handcuffs, the good leather ones, were in a small pink bag with her ball gag at the bottom of the one with her art supplies. 

“Do you scream?” Ana asked before Henry replied. “Or am I going to have to work to get a whimper?”

“I’ll scream,” Henry told her. 

_ Perfect. _

“What do you want to be called?” He asked. 

“Ana,” She snorted. “We can play with that later.”

M’am. Anouska. Sweetheart.

Sweetheart was what Harry had called her, even when he was tied down to the bed with her twisting his nipples it was sweetheart, sweetheart,  _ sweetheart.  _ They were small, pointy, prone to pebbling and a light tan. Ana fought the urge to scowl as her joy deflated like a balloon and fell into her stomach like a rock. 

“And if I want to tonight?” Henry replied.

“What do you want to call me?” Ana hummed. Henry’s mouth twisted down as he thought and Ana couldn’t help but lean over and give him a kiss on the side of her mouth. 

“Ana,” He said. “I want to call you Ana.”

Her red lipstick was all but washed away by the night out so she wished she’d touched it up. It was the kind that wouldn’t smudge but she liked kissing with red lipstick on.

It made men look at her mouth more often than if she was wearing any other color.

Henry hummed, leaned over and gave her a proper kiss. It was slow and easy and he let her control it. She put her hand on the back of his head and the other on his jaw as her tongue tangled with his. 

This was going to be  _ fun.  _

She scratched at the back of his hairline and pulled away. 

“How sensitive is your neck?” Ana asked. His Adam's Apple bobbed up and down before he answered.

“Really sensitive,” Henry said. “But if you’re going to give me hickeys, do them on my chest.”

Ana smiled at him, tilted her chin up and looked at him down her nose. 

“And on your hips?” Ana inquired. “I’d have to use a bit of teeth for those.”

Ana could calculate from how his navy button up hung off his shoulders that she was heavier than when she’d known him before and, by his thighs, that he wasn’t running anymore. He was doing something else.

She wondered what it would be like to rely so heavily on your legs only to have them nearly torn out from underneath you. 

“You can do that,” Henry replied. “You can  _ definitely _ do that.”

“You’d like it, would you?” Ana said. “And you’ve got the skin for bruises too. All pink and pale and freckled all over.”

“I lost the freckles years ago.” Henry protested.

He’d had them at twenty-two and twenty-three but, then again, he might not have gone to the Carribean since his parents last went.

Marie had been in Nimes for New Years during Ana’s first year and she’d shown Ana the pictures he was posting on his private Facebook, alongside a tiny redhead and his siblings. The woman had been as pretty as Marie if not more so and Henry smiled at her like he did for Marie; with soft eyes and white teeth. 

It turned out that she was his sister in law.

She remembered how pink Marie’s lip got when she chewed it while they talked on the phone. She would smile while she bit it, trying to hide how happy she was from Ana’s hawkeyed, nosy father. 

Ana forcibly shoved the image of the skinny, heartbreakingly beautiful Spanish Princess out of her mind along with her pale sister. 

Ana smiled at Henry as they broke apart.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” She asked. “Or bad?”

The Tube came to a stop and a man with a suitcase got on.

It was 2:34 in the morning. An hour earlier and their car would’ve been packed. She knew that from when she would sit on the Tube and draw with a pocket knife on the seat next to her and her phone ready to dial 999. It would happen less now she was living alone. 

“Good,” Henry whispered. 

“Then,” Ana replied. “I’ll be good to you, darling.”

* * *

Ana and Henry walked up the stairs, careful to be quiet. She led him by the hand and he wondered how she could afford an apartment in a townhouse but found out when they got to the top floor. 

It was in the attic and he had to duck to get through the door. 

He’d barely stepped inside before Ana had him by the collar and hauled him against her. She grabbed him by the lower back and kissed him frantically. Henry shrugged off his jacket, nearling getting his arms trapped in the sleeves in his haste to get it off. 

It ended up on the floor.

Henry grabbed Ana by the waist. She nipped his bottom lip before putting her mouth on his neck and kissing her way down to the collar bones. He slid his hand up the back of her shirt, feeling where the top of her skirt met the teddy she was wearing underneath.

And tugged his head back by his hair and kissed the sensitive spot on the outside of his jaw. Henry gasped and pulled his head out of her loose grip so he could tug the knot at the front of her shirt open. Ana tossed her own jacket to the ground alongside his and grabbed the buckle of his belt with both of hands, starting to undo it as Henry undid button after button on her shirt.

He couldn’t help but smile as the top of her teddy with it’s little gold clips and thick, black material of the bra at its top was revealed.

He heard his belt buckle clink as she undid it and cupped her jaw, pulling her in for another kiss. Ana allowed it for a moment before she physically shoved him away and hopped forward to push him up against the wall.

She got up on the tip of her toes, reached one arm around him to grab his arse and kissed his neck. His cock twitched as her lips pressed lightly on the one awful spot that seemed wired to the damned thing.

Ana moved her mouth down but Henry grabbed the back of her head. 

“No,” He grunted out. “Here.”

Ana pressed an opened mouthed kiss on the spot and sucked light. Henry let his head fall back against the wall and moaned. 

In his defense, his neck hadn’t gotten that much attention in a while. 

Henry almost jumped when she pulled his belt out from his pants and dropped it on the floor.

Or perhaps he did because Ana stopped.

“Is this alright, darling?” She asked. 

“Yes,” Henry grunted. 

“And you’ll tell me if it’s not?” Ana replied. Her nimble fingers started to untuck the front and back of his shirt. 

“Yes,” Henry all but snapped. She got back up on her toes, leaned most of her weight on his and kissed him gently.

“Good boy,” She said as she tugged his shirt free of his pants.

* * *

Ana felt the little hitch in his breath. It was so minute that she didn’t think he even realised that it had happened. She felt high, looking at his lips, the flush on his cheeks and his blown pupils.

They were looking at her.

She couldn’t help but feel smug. Ana kissed him again and slid her hands up his shirt. She left her left hand on his lower back, so she could feel his spine and the dimples above his hips but slid her fingers up his belly until she reached the space between his ribs. 

She kissed him gently and poked his calf with the toe of her boot. He took the hint and widened his stance. Ana nipped his bottom lip, getting him to open his mouth so she could thread her tongue around his and pin it behind his teeth. 

His grip on her waist tightened and Ana failed to keep from smiling. 

Ana scratched her nails gently down his belly and stopped just above his pant’s button as she stepped closer to him. She bent her right knee up so that her thigh was pressed against his bulge and used her left hand to urge him to rock forward onto her leg. 

He kissed her sloppily then, but moved his hips slowly, as if unsure with what he was doing. 

Ana let him keep doing it, pressing kisses to his cheeks and down his throat. She hooked her fingers into his pants and felt the elastic of his underwear. 

Briefs by the lack of fabric coming over or up to the edge of the elastic. 

Harry Percy had even had  _ 30 pound Ralph Lauren boxers  _ so she knew it was the style rather than price. 

Ana felt a bolt of fury run down her spine. She looked up from Henry’s neck to smile at him and give him another kiss. 

18 minutes and 45 seconds was how long they’d spent kissing since they’d left the club. 

Ana tugged him further onto her leg with the fingers she now had hooked into his boxers.

Henry Percy, at that very particular, moment could go fuck himself. 

“Are you trying to make me cum like this?” Henry asked, voice so high it could almost be called shrill.

“God,” She replied. “No. I want you on your back with your pants around your knees and your mouth on my tits.”

And his cock in her hand so she could watch him spill all over his stomach. 

“Who am I to disappoint a lady?” Henry asked and moved his hands up so they were on her 7th rib, just beneath her breasts. 

Henry leaned off the wall and kissed her, open-mouthed and with more teeth than he had before. Ana pulled her leg out from between his thighs and backed up so he could go after her. 

He readily obliged. 

She grabbed him by his collar and pulled him along. Her hand was level with her forehead as she dragged him to her bed. The closet space and her bed were lifted up from the rest of her flat with two steps. She nearly tripped on the first one herself. 

Ana let Henry go and looked over her shoulder, even as he stumbled.

* * *

Henry’s stomach lurched and for one split second panic he thought he was going to crack his skull on her floor. Henry tripped his way up the stairs and nearly fell on top of Ana. He caught himself and gasped. 

His knees knocked and he felt as if his left one was going to buckle underneath him.

Henry sucked air in through his nose and looked down. 

His legs were fine. 

His fucking erection was also _ unaffected _ .

“You alright?” Ana asked. 

“Yeah,” Henry replied. He flexed his toes in his shoes and huffed out a laugh. “So...uh?”

“On your back, on the bed, get your shirt off,” Ana ordered. “Shoes too.”

“Not pants?” Henry asked as he sat down and started to unlace his shoes. The movement made his zipper dig into his cock and he fought the urge to grimace. 

“I’ll do those myself,” Ana replied, turned around and went back down the steps.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“The door!” She said and he heard her shut and lock it as he tossed his shoes haphazardly onto the floor. Henry pulled his shirt over his head instead of unbuttoning it but folded it quickly and set it on the floor by the head of the bed.

Her closet had floor to wall mirrors and he looked at himself while her shoes squeaked in the hallway. He saw a man with wild red hair, pale skin, black slacks and a watch.

He wondered if she’d notice if he kept it on.

She hadn’t told him to take it off.

He took it off and set it on his shirt as she walked back into view. 

It was nearly three in the morning.

They looked at each other for a moment and Ana tucked her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts up and sticking her hip out. She looked at him expectantly. 

Henry got onto the bed but propped himself up on her pillow rather than laying flat on his back. 

“Comfy?” She asked as she knelt down and began to unlace her shoes. Her skirt rode up on her thighs letting him see more of her legs. 

“Yes?” Henry replied. He watched her as she got up and started to tug her shoes off which gave him another good look at her cleavage. 

“Have you ever worn sheer bras?” Henry asked. 

“Oh,” Ana snorted. “Have some patience, darling.”

Henry blushed at his cock twitched in his pants, pressing even harder against his zipper. He wanted to pop the button and pull the zipper down to get some of the pressure off. 

He swallowed down the question as Ana walked over and pointed one black nail at him. 

“Down on your back,” She ordered. Henry obeyed quickly, scooting off the pillow but propping himself up on his forearms. Ana sat down, the bed dipping under her weight. She raised one haughty eye brow. 

Her lipstick was bright red on her thin, quirked mouth. 

Ana reached over and cupped his chin so that the heel of her was slightly pressed on his jugular. Henry’s belly burned with pleasure and he let out a little gasp. 

_ Choke me. Ride my face. Suck me off.  _

“Lie down on your back,” Ana said. “Let me take care of you, Henry.”

He physically shuddered and did as he was told, laying himself back slowly. She braced her hands on either side of him and carefully climbed atop of him. Her legs were tight around his hips, visibly constrained by her skirt. She leaned over him and put her hand back on his chin, so he could again feel her hand on his neck. 

Henry gulped. 

“Please,” Henry said on impulse, tongue thick in his mouth.

_ Sit on my face. Pull my hair. Ride me however you want. Choke me. _

“Choke me,” Henry said. Ana’s grip immediately turned so her palm was completely covering his neck and squeezed lightly.    
Then again.

Henry’s head went slightly fuzzy and he put his hands on her thighs, feeling the smooth material of her skirt. She loosened her grip, leaned down and kissed him with her red lips. 

“Can I take your skirt off?” Henry asked into her mouth. “Please?”

“Go ahead,” Ana replied and squeezed his neck again. 

Henry was somewhat proud that he didn’t fumble with her zipper but got it down easily. Ana rewarded him by kissing her way from his mouth to the sensitive spot on the side of his neck and tightening her grip. 

Henry greedily grabbed her thighs just beneath her hips and found her skin was bare. 

Garter belt and stockings.

_ Jesus.  _

She let him go to toss the skirt away, letting him see her body properly. She had small tattoos on the top of both of her thighs. Two were Russian words; one was a flaming heart in black ink; another was a tiny cartoonish, skeletal dog; there was a tiny rose next to a bird.

They looked like little scribbles, if well done ones. 

“Come here,” Henry said. 

He grabbed her by the waist and tugged her forward. She went easily, straddling his waist, so her breasts were in his face. He leaned up and pressed butterfly kisses on her neck. 

Ana grabbed the back of his hair and tugged his head down to her chest. 

Henry’s cock jumped again and he swore he felt precum drip out of his slit. 

He scraped his teeth down her breast, tasting her skin and the elastic, ornamental cloth strap of her bra. 

“Good boy,” Ana said. “You’re such a good boy, darling.” 

  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.....this is the last chapter I had parts prewritten for so the next updates will be coming out much more slowly.


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